Savages (AHS: Roanoke)
by Jurana Keri
Summary: The story of a drastic downfall - from inheriting riches to the fight for his life, Cole Paterson moves to North Carolina to start a new life. Little does he know what he is in for, as the haunted, hallowed grounds seem to come alive almost every night. Will he stay sane? Will he see the light in an eternally black and bloody tunnel? Find out in this story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

My life before all of this, uh, _stuff_ happened, was near-perfect. Had its flaws, but I wouldn't change it for a thing. I lived in a small town called Barnwell in South Carolina. Barnwell County is near the border of Georgia – we had driven there a few times when I was young to vacation with my dad's family. He wasn't originally from Barnwell.

He also isn't with us anymore. He joined God when I was 8. I remember my little sister, Rebecca, was just a few months old. My dad had a massive heart attack at dinner. We thought he was choking on a thick piece of pork, but it was his heart. Gave out on him. We were scared to death, and the hospital couldn't save him.

My mom never remarried – she had to take an extra job, though. She made money at her full-time job as a manager at the grocery store, and then worked nights, too, to keep us afloat. Shortly after my dad's death, we got two dogs. Our whippet, we got within 3 months after his passing, was Scout. Then when I was 11, we got our beagle, Jack.

I always found it weird that we were white trash, pretty much, yet her family; well _, extended_ family, was of old Southern money. She was related to one of Barnwell's most prominent families. All of the wealth belonged to a grumpy, crazy, misogynistic, sickeningly old-fashioned, 89-year old Christian fundamentalist in a wheelchair – my third cousin, Charles Loring.

I saw this man every Sunday. _Every Sunday_. My mom, sister and I were Christians, and went to church like pretty much everyone else in Barnwell. We had a Lutheran church, but we also had a fundamentalist one that Uncle Charlie (we 'affectionately' called him that) insisted we go to. Every Sunday was the same old, droning pastor giving sermons, expecting us to take it all in and literally to the tooth. I didn't believe _EVERYTHING_ that was told to me, like the idea of the Earth being 2,000 years old or that women were made from the ribs of men.

My mom, sister and I only went to church to spend time with family, because the weekdays were really busy for us all. I had taken up a job as young as 13 doing manual labor. Family was more important than some guy blabbing about the fires of hell and the grace of God. Seeing Uncle Charlie, however, was literally the lowlight of the entire day.

We would head to his plantation, owned by my mother's family since the 1800s, after every service and have lunch. Uncle Charlie had maids as well as a live-in nurse to help him dress, bathe and what have you. I don't even want to know. What I do know, is that he had a stroke in the '90s, and it's prevented him from moving like normal. Hence the wheelchair. Rest is history.

He'd sit at the head of the table, literally a bag of wrinkles over a frail, thin, weak frame of bones and sinewy muscle, clad in a top-dollar suit and tie with his nurse sitting diagonally from him. I was toward the end; the more immediate you were related to Uncle Charlie, the closer you got to sit with him. Family rules. So I had some second-cousins and great-aunts and uncles sitting to my right, and younger extended family members to my left. This table in his dining room was massive, but even bigger was the sound of Uncle Charlie's non-rhotic, stammered drawl when he judged family members.

Before I left Barnwell, I remember our last family gathering. I remember what we ate, too – mashed potatoes, beef au-jus, and green peas.

"I think I'm getting' e'gaged soon," my first-cousin Josiah said as a part of casual conversation. While everyone was smiling with some older family members patting him on the back for congratulations, Uncle Charlie goes in and gives his (unwarranted) input.

"B-Better make sure she wholesome 'nd docile," he said strongly, his accent thick and nearly making my ears bleed. "Ephesians! Remember, ol' boy! As the church's s-subject to Christ, so also the wives oughta be t' the' husbands in everythin'!"

"Uh, Mr. Loring?" I heard his nurse ask, reaching for his plate, "would you like some more mashed potatoes?"

 _Slap!_ He hit her forearm pretty hard, and she was almost wearing his food.

"Woman! D-Don't you be touchin' my plate while I'm speakin'!" the old man snapped. "Didn't y-you learn any manners?!"

"Sir, I—"

"Uncle Charlie, _please_!" Lucas, my mother's brother, said as he stood and approached the patriarch's wheelchair at the head of the table, leaning over and touching his shoulder. "She's just tryin' to help. Don't be all angry at 'er."

"Don't be tellin' _me_ what to do!" Uncle Charlie snapped.

"With all due respect," my uncle began softly, "we already went to church. There's a time 'nd place for the word o' God, and it is _not_ at a peaceful family lunch."

"You're _vile_!" the old, rigid man said, pointing his finger and wagging it weakly. "God is always watchin', even when you're back is turned! Act in his name, or you'll be damned to burn in hell for all'o eternity!"

He just got louder. This is why I thought was I did about him. It got to the point where the nurse had to wheel him out. She also gave him a relaxant to calm him down. When he was like that, he could ramble off Bible verses until our ears fell off.

Well, _that_ all ended shortly after. Within the next week, he had only gotten weaker, closer to the end. Not all of us in the family got to say goodbye – I was one of them who did. His nurse called my house, asking for me. _Me_ , of all people.

"Is Cole there?" she had asked.

"It's he," I replied.

"Mr. Lorin' wants to see you," the nurse said.

"Why me?" I asked.

"He didn't say anythin' as to why, but do hurry."

And we hung up. I got my jacket on, got into my truck, and drove there, walking the long way down to the actual mansion on the acres-wide plantation through the designated path to the grand front door. By the time I got in, I looked at the clock and saw it was close to 8 in the evening. The nurse caught sight of me and led me up to the master bedroom. She opened the door, and announced my presence. I noticed Uncle Charlie hooked to some kind of life support with some tubing in his nose and an IV line in his hand. I was still confused, why did he want me here?

"W-Woman…leave us," I heard the man say weakly. He never failed to treat women horribly, even on his deathbed. The nurse just obeyed, shutting the door behind her. I looked at the door as it closed, but I heard the shrill, weak voice of Uncle Charlie.

"C'mere, ol' boy," he said, bringing his hand up and gesturing me over.

I walked over slowly, and peered down at the sallow, wrinkled skin of the patriarch on my mother's side. His eyes were tired, the bags underneath them weighted his face, and the tubing in his nose seemed to move irregularly as he tried to breathe.

"Uh…Uncle Charlie, why am I here?" I questioned.

"Ah, Cole," he said, gathering enough breath to continue speaking. "You're a…w-wholesome fella. Y-You look like…m-my David."

"David?" I asked.

Then it donned on me – David was my fourth-cousin who died in a car crash during the '80s. Apparently he wasn't a saint, either. He spoke about him as if he were evil and depraved, whenever he came up in conversation. For all I knew, David was condemned just for being human. I had heard horror stories about David being abused when he was younger – Uncle Charlie would've used the Bible to justify it all, too, and get away with it like nothing ever happened. Sad. Darn shame.

"Look like 'im, too," the old man muttered, breathing in a wheezy breath. "Unlike you…h-he's burnin' in hell."

"Now, why do you keep saying that about your _own son_?" I asked defensively, crossing my arms over my chest. "What the _hell_ did he do wrong?!"

"Don't curse!" he said as he mustered enough strength to yell.

I sighed. This old man could be scary when he wanted to be: "I-I'm sorry."

"Satan took his soul while still alive." Typical nonsense from this old man. "T-The devil in the form of a-a woman took 'im."

"I…I don't understand…" I hated when he was cryptic; I didn't believe all this for _one second_.

"Believe it," I heard him mutter. Then, well, he went on again like usual. "David was dumber 'n a doornail. Romans 13:14, you heard it. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires."

I just looked down at my worn tan work boots. Why was he telling me this? I was 23 and still a virgin. Not because the church told me to abstain, but because I wasn't really noticed by girls. I don't think it was my appearance. I have short, wavy dark blond hair, blue eyes, a big rugged with stubble, and I'm 6"2 and lanky. Pretty strong, too. You'd think I had a few girlfriends in high school. I was always too busy for it. I blame it on my demeanor – I was shy for the most part. Still am, too.

"Uncle Charlie, you ain't telling me anything I don't know," I told him.

"N-No, I ain't," he replied in a docile sort of way, taking a struggled breath. "Y-You right. But…"

He reached for something on the bedside table. I watched him slowly grab what looked to be a piece of paper and a silver-plated Parker pen. The room was only lit by two of three clicks of the bedside lamp, and when he looked to be passing the paper and pen to me, I saw that it actually was a form. I got the message to take the paper and pen from him, and I looked down at it with such shock. Then I saw Uncle Charlie's heavily-wrinkled, sickly face – he smiled with whatever was left of his teeth.

I was holding his last will and testament.

I was shocked. I was not his son. I was not any of the older relatives with more of a right to inherit Uncle Charlie's property. Hell, even _my own mother_ would have had more of a right to inherit anything off of him, but knowing his old-world views on women, that wasn't going to happen.

"Read it, ol' boy," he instructed with a slight chuckle.

So I did.

"I, Charles Efriam Loring, of the city of Barnwell, county of Barnwell, in the state of South Carolina, being of full age and sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament, revoking any and all wills heretofore made."

I couldn't believe this. I continued.

"I give and bequeath to my kin, Collin James Paterson, all of my personal effects, clothing, automobiles, furniture, and other non-business personal property owned by me at my time of decease…"

I was still crazed at this idea.

"…if they survive me, otherwise to…Lucas David Loring."

This old man put my uncle, much older than me, beneath me in status on this will. I didn't understand.

"This is your will," I finally said. " _Why_?"

"Why?" the old man asked me, repeating me. "You're young, gotta settle down, get yo'self a wife, put some of my funds to use, go to school, get y' education."

"Why put _me_ above my uncle?!" I exclaimed, still shocked and holding out the paper faced to him. "I don't get it. Don't you got other relatives you'd rather give all this stuff o' yours to?"

"Lucas is secon' 'cause h-he already got assets o' h-his own," the man said, coughing throatily. "I don't raise up no gluttons in m' family. And David is dead."

I cringed inside. He sounded so casual about the death of his only son.

"But…"

"Ol' boy, you got your whole life ahead o'ya," the old man said, taking the hand that held the Parker pen. "Sign it. Now."

"I can't accept this," I said. "I'm sorry, but-"

He cut me off, again: "Remember that s-sermon from Sunday? T-Timothy 5:8, this what he said. He said, 'he who does not provide for his relatives, especially his own household, has denied the faith and is worse than a non-believer."'

"I work, Uncle Charlie," I said, putting my hand to my abdomen, feeling like it was about to explode from my anxiety. "My mom is workin' 2 jobs, and since my dad died. I _do_ provide. I don't need the entire Loring fortune."

"Lucas ain't fit!" the old man exclaimed, coughing afterwards. "Timothy also p-proclaimed, in the Bible. _Read it_! Timothy 6:9, he says that those who want to get rich fall into temptation! Lucas got the brain of a bastard rat with the stuff he already got! My fortune would be a trap to him, and lead him to temptation. Leavin' it just to him, is a…d-disservice to God."

I sighed, I looked down at the paper and shook my head. I thought to myself, maybe I could sign this and make it official, that I be the executor of his will. Make the old man happy for once in his mostly miserable life. I actually felt pity for him.

"Uncle Charlie," I said calmly. "A-Are you _sure_? Are you sure you don't want to talk this over with Uncle Lucas?"

"No, ol' boy. It's all yours," he told me weakly, taking a deep breath. "S-Sign it, I say… s-sign it. Now."

I did. On the bottom, I signed my name as sole executor in my best cursive – Collin Paterson.

I didn't think how much shit would actually hit the fan, but it did. Uncle Charlie died 2 days later in his sleep. We had a funeral, which I ultimately needed help arranging. Uncle Lucas and his wife stepped in, along with my own mom. Picked the flowers, the casket, everything. We kept the coffin closed. A pastor who was in close cahoots with Uncle Charlie conducted the service at our church, we buried him, and headed back to the plantation, now _my_ plantation, for a small family reception.

The entire time, I was silent. Didn't initiate conversation. Uncle Lucas was talking to everyone but me. I was given the silent treatment. Did they _all_ know I was the executor of the old man's will? Was it in the plan?

Well, Uncle Lucas knew. And he was as angry as a bull provoked by a red cape.

He ended up pulling me aside. I knew he was mad.

"Cole," he said, his hands to the sides of my arms. "Let me ask you somethin', if that's okay."

"Shoot," I said casually.

He hesitated for a moment, but said to me: "did Uncle Charlie say anythin' about 'nother executor to his will?"

I was caught like a deer in headlights. I shook my head. "No."

"C'mon," he persisted, "you know _damn well_ he must've said somethin' about another heir to all his…his…" He looked around at the well-done architectural interior of the plantation house, " _assets_."

I sighed, making the biggest mistake I could at that moment.

"U-Uncle Charlie said you were unfit," I recalled.

His eyes, blue as sky, widened at me and he neared me enough to grab the collar of my dress shirt. I felt a bit nervous. There were children in the other room.

"What the hell did you just say?" he grunted. " _Unfit_?!"

"Y-You were the secondary…I signed it as primary executor, and you…I…I…"

"God in heaven! You're too young 'nd _stupid_ to deal with all these assets!" he grunted as I felt his spit gnash through his teeth at me. His breath reeked of cigars and the light scent of cognac.

"I _know_! I know I'm young, I didn't _want_ to sign it!" I cowered. I never was one to handle this kind of confrontation well. "Let me _go_!"

"No, I want to know why the hell-"

"Get your mitts off'a him!"

I looked and saw my mother come in along with Aunt Jennifer, Lucas' wife, and pull him off of me. I fell to the elaborate red Persian carpet in the process. I felt rug burn start to form through my cheaply-made slacks.

"Why the hell are you torturin' him?!" I heard Jennifer shout shrilly. "Leave 'im be!"

"This lil' bastard stole our fortune!" Lucas shouted.

I looked to the doorway of the room Uncle Lucas pulled me aside in. One of my younger girl cousins had a frown on her face with a lollipop in her hand. My sister, Rebecca, just stood there with a scowl, her arms crossed over her chest. Everyone else just had a look on their face that said ' _what the hell is going on?_ ' I was so embarrassed.

"I didn't steal nothin'!" I shouted. I never shouted, but at that moment, he really pissed me off. "I swear to God! I didn't wanna sign anythin'!"

"Son, you made your point," my mom said, helping me to my feet.

"You want the plantation so bad," I said, a bit more calmed down, "take it! I'll sign it over to you."

"No, I want everythin'!" Lucas said greedily, pointing his thumb to himself.

That just started up another shit-storm. Later that day at the funeral reception, I made it clear to all the other adults that, being the executor, I would distribute things of Uncle Charlie's as evenly as I could. Lucas didn't like this. I knew because the next day, I drove to his house after work and had everything on me – the will, deeds, bills of sale, anything like that. He was a…sorry for my language, a _motherfucker_.

"I want everythin'," Uncle Lucas said.

"You have no say. You're just another name on this document," I reminded him. I took out a pen in case we needed it, and we went over things that belonged to the old man while he was alive. He had millions in cars, suits, furnishings for the home, and even the actual property, but that didn't even include the some $2 million total he had in 19 different bank accounts. He also had nearly $400,000 in total debts. I nearly shit my pants at all this.

"How in the hell…" I began, "did he get all this junk?"

"It ain't junk," my uncle sneered. "It's value. Some of it over a hunn'd years old." I heard him scoff, taking a drag of his cigar. "If you was a true Loring, you'd know the story of Grant Herbert Loring."

I just looked at him.

"We're of old money, kiddo," he said. "1856, Grant came from Scotland with his wife and 5 littl'ns to make a better life here in the states. It's a wonder they could survive the Civil War."

I didn't care really. I just shrugged it off. We came to an agreement. I signed over the plantation to Uncle Lucas, who was due to move in the following month (July), and I put all the debts in his name to pay them forth. I gave his part of our family a few hundred thousand to pay off the debts as well as some left over for whatever else. He also got to keep 2 cars, antiques from the 1970s. A lot of the other older relatives were given huge chunks of the money we found in Uncle Charlie's possession, and at the end of the day, I had only $250,000 – a chunk of that went to sending my sister to college, another chunk to my mom, and even one of the newer cars of his to give to my sister when she started to drive.

Then I realized, there was more to life than Barnwell. I had pretty much given away everything of Uncle Charlie's within a month. There was barely anything left for me here.

I felt compelled to travel, to move away. I remembered Uncle Charlie's words, crazy as they sounded: "find yo'self a wife, settle down."

I wanted to settle on my own first. I was looking to the state north of my own. My mom was hesitant to let me go, but my sister wished me well. They were still thankful I thought of them both when distributing the old wealth of my family. I put in my two week's notice, found an appealing job doing lumber that paid more than my own job in Barnwell. It was right near the ocean, but also full of the most gorgeous native forests. It was so quiet and wonderful and calm…and frankly, I knew I'd be uncomfortable in a city. I'm a country boy, born and raised.

The house I drove 7 hours to (with my dogs) was a beautiful old farm house. Three bedrooms, two stories, and a basement. I was told it was built in 1792. I felt like the universe wanted me there, at that given point in time. Even during the auction, which consisted of me, three old hillbilly-looking guys, and an interracial couple, I was determined to get it.

"Opening bid is $21,000," the auctioneer announced. "Including all ten acres of forest around it. But you can't build on it."

"Why?" I asked.

"It's protected," the man replied.

"It's a bit cheap, don't you think?" I asked. "Is somethin' wrong with the property?" Other than the fact that the exterior siding looked to be decaying and the landscaping was horrible.

"Hurricanes," one of the old hillbillies said rudely. "You don't want this house."

 _You don't look like you could afford it_ , I thought to myself. He was dressed in practically rags and wore a dirty bucket hat, smelling of onion BO and fish bait. I felt sick to my stomach.

"We bid $25,000," the interracial couple said. I was by no means a racist, but seeing a white woman with a black man made me uncomfortable. What could I say? I was a product of my environment.

"$26,000," a hillbilly called out.

"Do I hear 27?" the auctioneer said to me. Then I thought to myself, remembering I had way more to my name from the inheritance.

"$75,000." That was almost everything I had at that point.

I was bold. I couldn't believe what I did.

"Going once….twice…"

 _BANG!_ He smacked his small hammer to a spot on his podium. "SOLD!"

The interracial couple seemed a bit let-down, and the hillbilly fellas were certainly mad. I was happy, and when I was given a tour of the house, I was actually a bit shocked that it was grand on the inside in comparison to the run-down exterior. There was a huge spiral staircase, but aside from that one major feature, the rooms needed a paint job. The dining room had cobwebs up in the corners. Nothing a trip on a ladder couldn't fix. The furnishings needed updating, but again, nothing I couldn't fix.

However, all this aside – the moment I stepped into the house, I felt a reluctance within. A dark pull. I didn't know what, but it was there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Despite the odd feeling of darkness hanging over me in that house, I was given a kind of warm welcome by a few neighbors. With all the forest surrounding my new home, I found it crazy to think someone was living nearby. Apparently, one family was, the family who welcomed me: the MacLeans.

It consisted of an older man, probably in his sixties, who introduced himself as Martin. He wore clean denim overalls over a white button-up shirt with work boots. He looked pretty fit for his age, big shoulders and a broad chest. He was balding at the top with salt-and-pepper hair. His brow was prominent, and his nose was almost a perfect triangle.

He was cordial, but when he moved aside, I saw two young women.

One was frightening to look at. I didn't know what it was, but she caught my eye first. She was a bit taller than the other, and she had wavy, fiery hair, almost an orangey-blonde color. Arched, untouched brows framed her eerie hazel eyes, and her face was gracefully ovular. Her frame was in an hourglass, dressed in a black casual dress with frills on the front of it and small buttons to accent. The black actually made her flawless skin look ghost white. She didn't smile, but just had this…I don't know, _look_ about her.

"I'm Sarah," she said, extending her hand out slowly, but politely. I accepted the gesture and smiled, bracing myself. She genuinely creeped me out.

"Hello, Sarah," I said, "it's nice to meet you. I'm Cole."

I let go of her hand, and saw Martin usher forth the other young woman.

"And this is my _other_ niece, Barbi," he introduced.

I was stunned – Barbi was beautiful, not to mention easier on the eyes. Like Sarah, she had red hair, except hers was darker and straighter. Barbi also had bangs, which, set her apart like a sore thumb. In a good way, though. Her eyes were such a dark brown that they looked black, but they were warm and inviting to look into. Her face was more diamond-shaped, she was shorter, but also had a prominent Roman nose. Not huge, but it was a noticeable feature. While she was thin, I couldn't help but notice her rack. She was wearing a sleeveless, light pink, button-up dress with a tie in the front and a collar. It was only buttoned up so far. Her cleavage was right there in front of me. I also noticed a pendant on her neck, it was really pretty, like a green gemstone that was speckled with black. I tried to make eye contact, but instead directed my eyes to the plate holding what looked to be a cake covered in Saran wrap.

"I-Is this a cake?" I asked, trying to make eye contact.

"Yes, it is!" she said with a smile. "It's uh," She looked down, "chocolate and caramel."

I smiled: "how'd you know that's my favorite kind of cake?"

She was shy, and blushed a little. The pink in her cheeks was so cute. "I… _did_ n't know."

I accepted the cake from her, and welcomed them both in, letting Barbi in first, then Sarah, and then Martin, who stopped to whisper to me.

"Barbi's already the apple of your eye," he snickered.

I said nothing, but managed to hear the person in question ask about the house as she looked up at the grand spiral staircase.

"How'd you find this house? It's hidden."

I smirked; "well, I looked online for a new job, a new start, and found this place being listed."

"What do ya do?" Martin asked with a light Southern drawl.

"Lumber," I said. "I start next week."

"Cuttin' it, or-"

"Transporting it," I said, putting my hands in my pockets as soon as I placed the cake Barbi gave me on the dining room table. "But occasionally cutting it, yeah."

"This house sure didn't cost much, did it?" Sarah asked. Her voice even creeped me out. It was almost monotone even for a question.

"Well, it was auctioned," I replied. "Spent pretty much all my inheritance on it."

"Who passed?" Martin asked.

"My third cousin. Very rich man," I answered.

"Bless your heart," Barbi said cordially with a hand to her chest. I smiled at her again and nodded gratefully.

"T-Thank you," I stammered. "He was 89 in a wheelchair. He lived long"

"Where's about you come from?" the man asked me.

Our eyes met. I sighed: "I'm from South Carolina."

"What part?"

"Barnwell."

"Ah, down near Georgia."

"Sort of."

I felt like he was playing 20 Questions, all because he saw me staring at his niece. I can't help it if she's pretty. If Uncle Charlie were alive, he'd beat me over the head with his Bible, about how women were the devil and all that baloney.

My whippet, Scout, came running into the dining room, with my beagle Jack just behind him. They halted, their tails wagging slowly as their small pairs of beady eyes looked up at me. I heard Jack whine.

"Aw, bud," I said, trying to approach him and pat him. I saw Barbi come on over slowly, a bit carefully, as though she were trying to avoid me. I looked up at her, her warm, dark, almond-shaped eyes looking right into my blue ones.

"M-May I?" she asked, putting one of her hands down toward the dog.

I grinned: "sure."

I watched both Scout and Jack circle Barbi as she crouched on the floor, bending down in a ladylike sort of way. Had she been bending, I probably would've gotten a glimpse of the world down under. I'm glad I didn't though. I just watched Jack's tongue flop against her hand, as Scout's licked at her forearm and whimpered a bit.

"Aww…aren't they the _sweetest_?!" the beautiful, sweet, polite redhead cooed.

"Sweet, indeed," Sarah replied, actually sounding normal. A bit sarcastic, if anything.

I chuckled to try and break my nervousness in front of the two young women, especially the fear Sarah's presence alone gave me. That was until I heard both of my hounds growling. I paid attention only to notice they were growling in the direction of Sarah, who also happened to be nearest the door. Martin just stared at the dogs, and then to me with this 'what's going on' look on his face.

Then I heard this really hard pelting sound on the vertical-long windows. It nearly startled me, and I looked at Martin, who began to speak. My dogs began to bark, and run toward the front door.

"Must be hailin'," he told me.

"Not uncommon where I'm from," I replied. Barnwell got hail sometimes during a thunderstorm, but I found it weird because it wasn't raining an hour before. It was actually sunny. It was the beginning of August by this point, so nice weather was still in place.

We all followed the dogs, and I opened the front door, noticing thick clumps of what looked to be hail falling from the sky. The dogs went down the steps and barked up at the clouds, but it was when I looked down, I noticed that this was not hail. Barbi, Martin, and Sarah were behind me as I crouched down to get a better look at what fell from the clouds.

My eyes widened – they were teeth. Human teeth.

"What the _hell_?" I asked myself.

I picked one up, feeling like puking at that moment. It looked to be rotted, discolored, cavities on the sides of it. Looking down, I saw the other teeth that rained on my porch to be no different. I had this horrified look frozen on my face as I turned back to see Martin walking toward the front door. The bout of hailing teeth didn't seem to stop, but what scared me more was…well, he didn't seem bothered by it even as teeth pelted down on him. Literally. It looked so painful. I thought at that moment, I'm sick in the head. Or something REALLY sinister was going on.

I saw him look at Sarah, who then looked at Barbi. I heard her whisper: "let's get outta here. Now."

"S-Shouldn't we wa-"

I nearly gasped as I watched Sarah yank her sister's arm violently and she began to pull her out of my new house. I saw the look of pain on Barbi's face, and when I tried to move toward the scarier redhead to get her hand off her sister, I winced back to see the most intimidating expression I've ever seen. Just her eyes alone warded me off. It's almost like they spoke to me. I felt a chill down my spine.

Weirder yet, when Barbi was dragged out by her sister, the teeth stopped falling from the sky. It was only then that the pretty redhead waved at me, with a sad, pained smile on her face.

"B-Bye!" she said, trying to be polite.

I waved back, but kept my focus on the ground. All the teeth that fell, it was enough to make me sick. Nauseous. I rushed into my house, locked the door, and rushed to the bathroom. I knelt right in front of the first-floor bathroom's toilet and let my stomach spew up what it had to. I couldn't believe what I saw. I felt like I was on a trip. I…I was seeing things. I knew this because later that night, I went out to check again, after avoiding windows all day long, only to see the ground completely empty.

You heard me. _Completely empty_. No teeth anywhere.

I really worried, but fortunately, nothing TOO weird happened over the next few days. I began work at the sawmill, and let me tell you, what I was told to do wasn't in the job description. I was supposed to be transporting the lumber, but…I caught myself being trained to cut it with these massive saws. It was still work, but, not my ideal situation. It was very hot and stuffy, so much that I needed to wear a mask over my nose and mouth. My boss wasn't that bad, fortunately. I was given 45-minute breaks, which wasn't bad considering I worked 9 hours a day. From 7 in the morning to 4 in the afternoon.

I remember coming home the third day at work. I saw what looked to be a lump on my porch. I got out of my truck and as I walked closer to the entrance of the house, I saw nothing more than a carcass.

I rushed up the steps to see that the carcass was that of Scout, my whippet.

I was in a panic. I took off my flannel shirt and covered him with it, but before I could, the smell of rotting flesh hit my nose and the sound of buzzing flies was enough to make me cringe. But I had burst into tears before doing so.

"Scout! SCOUT! NO!" I shouted.

I saw that my dog's throat was slit. I don't know how long he had been there. There was no blood anywhere, but I took a few minutes to cry to myself. Who on earth could've done such a thing?! Why would anyone hurt an animal I loved? My face was beet red by the time I took out my cellphone and called the police, reporting the incident. They said they'd send someone over immediately, and the minute I get off the phone, I go in the house to get a towel to cover him over with. My flannel shirt was still off me, but I had been in too much of a panic to remember taking it off.

But it was when I opened the front door and came out to see that…Scout's body was gone. My flannel was, too.

I collapsed to my knees, feeling the pain in my kneecaps as I saw a police cruiser park in front of my house. Two officers came out, and I covered my face with disbelief.

"No…no…no," I whined under my breath. I felt hands on my arms, pulling them away from my face. It was a policeman.

"What happened?" he asked me.

"M-My dog…a whippet…he...HE WAS JUST HERE!" My dry sobs turned into screeching.

"What happened to it?" he asked me.

"I found him…here," I pointed, sniffling. "H-His throat was cut…n-no blood anywhere…I don't know where he went…" I paused and continued. "I was away at work…I come here, see him dead…and now he's gone."

I looked at the two police officers, who just stared at each other as though I had three heads. Or as if I was making it all up. I wasn't. I saw it with my own eyes.

All they could say was this: "do you know the penalties for lyin' to police, bub?"

My jaw dropped, and I sprung to my feet. "I'm not making it up! I SWEAR! I saw Scout dead here! I go into the house to get a towel to cover him with and then he _disappears_!"

"He ain't here," the other cop said. "This is grounds of lyin' to police. Not sure if you're aware, but, that carries a penalty."

"I swear to God, and I'm _really_ religious," I fibbed, putting a hand on my chest and one up in the air, "I am not lying!"

"Sir, we're givin' you a verbal warnin' this one time," the other cop said. "You call us again with nonsense, you're gonna be in big trouble."

Just like that, they drove off. I was just stuck there. I sat on my porch steps, watching them drive away from my property. I rubbed my face roughly with my hands, to see the miracle of Jack, my beagle walking up toward me and whining. I felt tears run down my cheek as he took a seat beside me and nudged my hands, jumping up to lick my face briefly as I patted his head.

Then, I heard him start to growl and bark loudly. I looked at him, patting his back and sighing.

"What, boy?" I asked.

I looked around and heard rustling in the bushes. I was unnerved, taking my dog into the house with me.

I went to bed a little earlier that night. Jack was scared. He didn't want to sleep alone. I knew he didn't. But I heard a very loud noise outside that woke my dog up first. His barking woke me up, and when I looked outside, I was shocked.

I couldn't believe it. I was REALLY seeing things now – it was a bunch of people walking toward my house. With torches, knifes, and what looked to be pitchforks. My dog kept barking, but I picked him up and brought him downstairs, getting a better view of them through the window. The minute I heard a bang at my front door, I knew I needed to get out of there.

Yet, I was surrounded. The only place to go was the cellar. The dirty, musty cellar. I walked down the steps, locking the door behind me, and let my dog go first. I hid myself as well as I could. I could see the light from the torches through the small windows of the cellar. My body was shaking; I was in a state of panic again. What the hell was all of this?

I was paralyzed as I heard glass breaking upstairs. My dog just whined at first, but didn't know much better than to bark. I couldn't even keep him quiet.

 _RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!_

Jack wouldn't stop barking. I was so scared, I thought I was going to shit my pants. I heard a lot of noise, and not just glass breaking. It was so consuming, I couldn't deal with it. My anxiety was through the roof. My palms were sweaty, I was dizzy, I was hyperventilating. I couldn't breathe. My fear was gripping.

This was over the course of, I want to say, 45 minutes. The noise lasted that long.

When it finally stopped, I stood up. I didn't see any lights outside of the basement window. I could feel my face pulsating and tears dried to my skin. My dog was whining even louder. My heart wouldn't stop racing. I let out a few dry sobs and finally pulled myself together, standing up and taking a deep breath. I led Jack to follow me up the steps to check the damages left behind from the break-in.

Someone didn't want me there. They were determined to make me leave.

I went upstairs, where I heard the glass breaking, only to find…that…there was NOTHING there. Not a single window was broken. No curio cabinets. Nothing. Nothing was broken.

I was still creeped out enough to get into my clothes and get into my truck. If anything, I wanted to see for myself if anyone was around my house.

Looking back, this was a stupid decision.

I locked Jack in one of the downstairs bathrooms before heading off. No way in hell I would lose my other dog.

I hopped into my truck, drove off, nothing but the headlights guiding my way. I struggled to take a deep breath, hearing nothing but the static of the radio and the acceleration of my truck. My heart was racing a little bit, still, but I tried to gather myself so I wouldn't get into an accident.

When I felt calm enough, I looked to my sides, slowing down a little bit to see if anyone was within the 10 acres around my house. I couldn't see very well, it was so dark. I tried to pay attention to the road in front of me with a few glances to my windshield but that was it. It was not easy. It was so dark, still the middle of the night.

Until…I looked forward one last time.

 _BANG!_

 _Bump!_

I had hit someone standing in the middle of the road. I screamed and stopped my truck. My heart rate was up again, and I got out of my pickup truck to see who I had hit. From the looks of it, it was an older woman, kind of, uh, _big_. I saw her hair was stringy, and he clothes were weird. A long skirt, and a vague blouse I couldn't really make out.

"Hello?" I asked frantically, a bit nervous to approach her. "Are you okay?"

I took a step closer when I saw she wasn't moving. I was lucky to have my phone on me, but it was in the truck. I dialed 911 as I took it out of the middle compartment. I looked again at the woman, who was now struggling to get up, getting to her feet and walking toward the dense, dark woods.

"Whoa, whoa," I muttered. "Ma'am?!"

I looked down and saw my cellphone was out of service to make the call. How convenient.

"Ma'am?! Are you alright?" I asked.

I found myself following her.

"Hello?"

No answer still.

"I need to get you to a hospital," I said a bit louder.

When she vanished into the woods, and…I found myself at the threshold of the road and the woods. I foolishly followed her. It was like in the horror movies, but my curiosity really got the better of me. Plus, I was very concerned for the woman I had just hit.

I followed this woman straight into the forest, maybe 50 feet. I could have sworn the road was directly behind me, I swear. There's no way that she could've gotten very far, but I couldn't find any sign of her. I couldn't find my way out.

I was trapped.

* * *

 **A / N:**

 _Hey everyone! Okay, I neglected to write an Author's Note on the first chapter, but here I am! I'm back!_

 _Please leave_ Reviews _, as you know I love to hear your opinions. Give my story a_ Favorite _and_ Follow _while you're there, if you please._

 _Also, feel free to share this with friends! I looked and saw that on both FF and Wattpad, this is the FIRST and ONLY story related to AHS: Roanoke of any title. I'm so honored to be the first (so far)._

 _Thanks again, I love you all! Your support drives me to continue writing._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

I walked through the woods in search of the woman. I was stupid. I had no idea what was hiding in that woods, who could be there in the darkness.

"Hello?! Hello?"

I kept calling out. I didn't know what could be worse than _not_ finding her, alive, at least.

But, I would soon find out, because the first thing that caught my eye in the distance was a dim, orangish light, as if it came from fire. The smell of burning wood hit my nose, and it led me to keep walking, following the sight until it grew bigger. The smell of burning wood turned into something more disgusting, like rotting flesh or burnt pork. I also heard a distant voice. It was that of a woman.

"I am the queen of every hive…"

I noticed an accent. English, Scottish…I don't even know.

"I am the spear of battle…"

I inched closer, hiding behind a tree trunk as I was petrified by the sight of a huge bonfire, some tens of people surrounding it, all dressed rather strangely. As though they were not from this time period. I took a peek to see someone being strung up like a pig on a spit, but even more disturbing were these, I don't know, structures around the fire, around the people, with…God, I don't even know now. I think I've repressed a lot of this.

I think…there were…uh, a few pig's heads, severed, still bloody, impaled on the structures with these little creepy doll-like things attached. I was shaking, but still petrified by my fear. I couldn't let these people know I was there. All I knew at that moment, was how I was going to survive.

"This deserter was found at the edge of the wood with our provisions stolen from the storehouse," the woman's voice said in the strange English accent. I could only make out some of her appearance. She had gray, stringy hair, and wore what looked to be a corset-bodice thingy over a white shift and…a dark brown skirt…i-it looked like the woman I hit. There was NO WAY she could've gotten up that fast.

I heard whining coming from a man, the man who was tied to the spit-roast, the fire just beneath him. He was in pain, and it took me a few moments to recognize his face – it was Martin.

Martin was the uncle of Sarah and Barbi.

Why would they have wanted him? What betrayal was she talking about? I just watched, feeling my stomach about to explode from anxiety.

"Justice demands penance for his betrayal," the woman announced.

"OW! AHH!" the man on the spit cried out.

I was queasy; it looked like one of the people was sodomizing him with something. He just kept screaming, begging for mercy.

"Don't kill me! _PLEASE_!" Martin screamed out. "Barbi and Sarah need me! PLEASE! Ow…t-this hurts!"

I didn't know what to do. He had been actually a nice person knowing him. But…I risked my own life if I went in there and untied him from the spit, and pulled whatever was stuck up his ass out of it.

"You are but a cloven beast," the woman said, "rotting in the mire and muck, as unclean as your festering soul."

Then I watched in horror as Martin screamed, his head being covered by what looked to be a severed pig's head. His cries were muffled by the insides of the pig head, and I just cowered behind the tree trunk a bit more, nearly throwing up.

"Speak, pig! SPEAK!" I heard the woman shout. "You shall be purified!"

I watched a few others in the group of savages feed the fire with more wood, but then I got a clear view of the woman's face. She was definitely older, in her 60s at least, with a slight lazy eye, tan-colored teeth, dirt on her aged face, and her hair was back, but stringy and gray. The woman behind her would have been beautiful had she brushed her hair or taken care of her teeth…or whatever she was.

"SIEZE HIM!"

That meant me. It also meant I needed to book it out of there, Martin's life aside if I wanted to save my own. I didn't look behind me when I ran, I tried to stop myself from tripping, but I tripped twice on my way back from the road. I was no longer lost in the woods, a relief, but still scared shitless. I got in my truck, started the ignition and before I could get the truck in gear, I saw someone standing in front of my vehicle. They fainted to the ground.

I got out, once again, going to the front of my pickup truck to see that it was a young woman who had blacked out on the road ahead of me. I moved the hair out of her face, and recognized her as Barbi.

Barbi – why the HELL was she out at this time of night?

"Barbi?!" I shouted, picking her up and shaking her, trying to get her to wake up. No success.

If I took one person to the hospital that night, it was her. So I drove out of dodge and to the nearest hospital. It took about 25 minutes to drive there. It was the medical center in Manteo. I stuck with the story of her fainting in front of my truck. Not much else.

They wheeled her in, set up an IV, and when she woke up about 15 minutes after being checked in, I was the first person she looked at.

"Barbi," I said, reaching my arms out toward her to hold her. She was expressionless, and then I let her go, lecturing her like a father would his daughter. "Why the _hell_ were you out at this time of night?! It ain't safe out there!"

All she responded with was: "w-why were _you_ out there?"

"Because someone, or…some _people_...broke into my house."

"Yeah? Well my uncle went missing!" Barbi wailed.

I bit my lip and looked down, nodding. "I-I know."

Her almond-shaped, dark eyes looked at me, widening. " _What_?"

"Y-You saw what I saw?" I questioned.

"I saw…" Barbi frowned, tears filling her eyes, "the…the butcher…"

"Tell me," I begged, holding her hand, "what did you see?"

She looked down for a few moments, and then up at me. I waited patiently for her to gather herself. Whatever she saw must have been really bad.

"I…saw…A-Ambrose…" I heard her say, "a-and his mother…t-they were…t-tying someone up…"

Ambrose. Who the hell was that? Did she know something I didn't? If so, why hadn't she told me? Did she know why all those teeth feel outside my house?

"H-His mother…ordered they…t-that they seize 'him', whoever he was…b-but…." She was stammering. I could feel her emotions as my own for a moment. It was so distressing.

"It was me," I blurted silently. Her eyes just widened. I saw her shake her head.

"I-It can't be," she told me. "My uncle went missing! It was my uncle they were…"

Then she stopped. How odd.

"I…I…" was speechless, in all honestly.

"No…no, no, no, please say it ain't so!" she whined frantically.

"I…I can't remember," I fibbed. Obviously she was in distress. Last thing she wanted to hear was, 'oh, your uncle had somethin' poked up his ass and was spit-roasted over a fire.'

"W-We gotta look for him! NOW!" she shrieked.

"Shh, shh…" She was right though. If he was missing, we would need to find out where he was.

I dialed the phone and gave it to Barbi – it was the police station, same one who said I was lying about having seen Scout's throat all slit up on my porch. She got someone, and I could hear everything she said.

"I…I saw him last night…before I went to bed…"

"I…don't remember what he was wearing…"

Next, chilled me to the bone.

"I…I think he may have been taken…I saw him in the woods…"

Before I knew it, she gave me my phone back, and sighed.

"T-The police are on their way to question me."

"Well, I…hope it helps," I said, still stammering.

Within fifteen minutes, two police officers came to the door. Lo and behold, they were the same who claimed I lied about the incident with my dog. They looked me up and down and passed me, entering the hospital room with one sitting in the chair I had been in and the other in a swivel chair he needed to pull up. They introduced themselves to Barbi, and one of the cops just sneered at me.

" _You_ can leave."

I did, but the door was open. I heard everything. It was only then that I knew that Barbi had known full well it was her uncle who was sodomized and spit-roasted in that weird hell of a sacrifice, or whatever it was. I heard her crying, only to feel my chest hurt a little bit. I empathized with her. What I saw was traumatizing.

I looked down the hall, and past nurses and rotating gurneys I saw a redhead with familiar ghost white skin and piercing eyes that darted like knives—Sarah. She was dressed in dark gray jeans, a black cardigan, and a gray top beneath it. I could hear her boots hitting the linoleum. She was a heavy walker, which only added to her scary persona. I found it weird she wasn't out looking for their uncle as well.

As she approached the door where Barbi was being interviewed by police, I mustered my bravest face and put my hand out: "s-she's with police right now."

I'll never forget the look her sister gave me. It was one of disgust, and as she peeked into the room, I found her stepping in there. I dared not interfere. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead right then and there.

"Sarah!" I heard Barbie exclaimed.

"Young lady," a cop said as I stood in the doorway. "I'm questioning Miss MacLean."

"I'm Miss MacLean, too," she said. "I'm her sister."

"S-She is," I heard Barbi say with a heavy nod.

I saw the policemen look up at the intimidating older sister and begin to bring her in as well on the questioning.

"When did you first know your uncle Martin MacLean disappeared?" one asked Sarah, who just folded her arms.

"Just now," she replied.

"Do you have an idea where he might be?" the other cop asked.

"I don't know," Sarah said. "He likes taking nighttime walks."

I couldn't help but notice the weird expression on Barbi's face toward her sister. It was almost like she was saying, in her head, 'no he isn't, are you freakin' crazy?' All I knew, aside from that, was the creepy factor kicking in once again. Sarah was creepy on her own, but her responses…I don't know…it's like she knew something we didn't. Yet I could also say the same about Barbi. Why else would she be out in the middle of the woods in the dead of night like this? See, I've always had a bad habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt, but…I didn't quite know at the time. I was too trusting for my good, even though I had my doubts about Sarah.

I don't remember what else was said. It was just rambling between her and the police. Barbi didn't even attempt to get a word in. I felt her pain. Sarah _was_ pretty scary. I can't even imagine being afraid of my little sister like that. Rebecca was always good though.

Then I heard something rather odd before the police thanked the girls and left: "sure he ain't hog-tied somewhere? You haven't even gone to look, have you?"

This was the icing on the cake, okay? Her flat affect was creeping the living daylights out of me. But her casual approach…it was unreal. He'd taken them in, he told me himself. How could she have been numb to the disappearance…well, _death_ , of her uncle?

"We are going to start investigatin' at the crack o'dawn," one policeman said, shaking her hand. "Thank you both for your time."

"P-Please…f-find him…" Barbi begged.

"Yes, sweetheart. We will."

The police officers passed me, and one of them even gave me a stink-eye before leaving my sight. I looked into the hospital room, going back in. As soon as I tried to sit, however, I heard Sarah being viciously abusive to Barbi. I was genuinely afraid of her, too afraid to say something, but…

"You dumb bitch!" the redhead grunted.

Barbi gasped: "what?! Where did you-"

"Out in the middle of the night all by yourself," Sarah said through gritted teeth, stomping her foot and putting her fists to her head. It looked like she was gripping huge chunks of her hair. "GOD DAMN IT!"

I felt every bone in my body shake with fear, and not because she took God's name in vain.

"S-Sarah," I finally said. "We're in a hospital room."

She glared at me, but said nothing. Better it be nothing than something.

"For all you know, you could'a been hog-tied with the rest of 'em!" Sarah exclaimed to her sister.

"I…I didn't know what to do!" Barbi cried, holding her hands palm-up to Sarah. "You know we don't got a phone!"

I looked at Barbi strangely. No phone? Why? I turned and walked toward the two young women, but before I could make a comment, Sarah spoke again.

"We're getting you out of here, right now," she stated, turning to me, "and _you_ are takin' us back."

I did just that. Call me light in the loafers or a sissy, but…I will admit, as I have countless times in this interview, I WAS SCARED of this girl. I did as she said. When Barbi was released finally and deemed fine, just before the crack of dawn, I drove them back in my truck. Barbi was right up next to me, and Sarah was nearest the passenger seat door. I could smell a very light scent coming off her. It added to the fact that even though her hair was straight and mangled from the night, she was still beautiful. She actually distracted me a bit while driving.

I keep my eyes as focused on the road ahead as possible, until I hear this scream out of nowhere.

"BAH!"

Barbi jumped, and right when I slammed on the brakes, I looked around and felt my heart about to beat out of my chest. Then I heard a light snickering, very creepy and sinister.

"W-What was that?" I asked with a bit of a heavy breath.

"Me." It was Sarah, opening the car door faster than I could hit the Lock feature on the pickup truck. "We can walk from here."

"Uh, Sarah, are you-" Barbi was cut off.

"C'mon, let's go!" she exclaimed.

I watched the two girls leave my truck, and I didn't even close the passenger door. I just watched them. They looked to be going in the woods. The same woods I saw Martin tied up and sodomized in, burnt alive amongst those…those savages.

Being from the South, it's not a lie that we're gentleman. We don't let a lady go alone someplace, especially a place like this. The woods, even at this hour, probably 6 in the morning, could've still been dangerous. So I let that, you know, 'Southern gentleman' side out right then and there. I got out of the truck and walked toward the threshold of the road and the grass.

"Uh…S-Sarah…Barbi?" I asked. "L-Let me take you there."

"Why?" Sarah asked.

"W-Well, it's still kinda dark," I told her. "Y-You won't be safe in there."

She giggled sarcastically, taking Barbi's arm in both of her hands. The prettier, softer-faced one looked at me. Barbi was clearly uncomfortable, but Sarah was the one speaking: "we're _always_ safe."

I went to my truck to close the passenger seat door, and once I did, I looked in the side mirror to see no one there. I couldn't believe my eyes. I felt, once again, I was going insane. I turned around and…objects were not closer than they appeared. There was no one there. Barbi and Sarah had vanished.

" _Not a trace?" the interviewer questioned after his perpetual silence during the interview._

No. Not a trace.

" _Did you see them at all after this?" the interviewer asked. He saw Cole sigh and lean forward, stroking his clean-shaven shin while nodding._

I did, actually.

" _When?" The interviewer took out a notepad and paper, preparing to jot down anything relevant._

A week later. See, I found something weird on my property – a storm cellar.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _Okay so one of you were curious about the actors/face canons of the characters so far. I'd be happy to answer, as I have this also in the Wattpad version of this story._

 **Cole Paterson** \-  Jeremy Sumpter ( _he starred in such films as_ Peter Pan, Cyber Seduction, Soul Surfer _and more recently_ , Into the Storm)

 **Barbi MacLean** \-  Bella Thorne ( _she starred in Disney Channel's_ Shake It Up _as well as the more recent film_ , The Duff)

 **Sarah MacLean** \-  Katherine McNamara ( _she is best known for her role in_ The Scorch Trials)

Th _ese are the 3 main OCs as of this point in the story! Please_ Review, Favorite _and_ Follow! _Your support drives me to write even more! Thank you always!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Yeah, the storm cellar. It's a wonder, I didn't discover this piece of my property until about midweek following.

" _But you didn't see the MacLean sisters until_ later _that week?" the interviewer questioned._

 _Cole just sighed, shaking his head with a slight pout_ – I found out something really weird in that cellar. Let me just tell you, it's kind of a long story. Y-You're filming still, right?

 _The interviewer nodded, and Cole continued._

I found tapes down there. They had to have been 15 or 20 years old tops. I was nervous even going down into the cellar. There was a ladder leading down to the floor, and I climbed down slowly. I was cautious. Anything could have been down there. Turns out, I was right. I put on my flashlight and saw things laying around. Belongings. It was like someone had lived underneath my nose, or the noses of previous inhabitants. It chilled me to the bone.

One of the first things I noticed, aside from a dusty cot and old TV set was a set of tapes. I was curious, so…I naturally took the top 3 tapes laying on top of the box of other ones back into my house and took them to my TV. A VHS is unheard of, but….it was there when I moved in.

The first video I saw was really creepy and made no sense. It was, uh, frightful panting…and a guy with a pig head chasing after whoever filmed the tape. It looked like one of those creepy Youtube videos someone put up for fun to scare others. The camera also was shaky, which added to the creepy level. Scarier than Sarah, I'd say.

Next video I popped into the VHS player startled me the minute it played. I paused it, gasping to see a middle-aged man, probably in his late-50s with no hair and a long, matted, messy beard. Then I remember that the surroundings in the video were the same as what I saw in the cellar. The quality was horrible, but at the same time, I could make out what he was saying. I sat down, cracked open my soda, and listened as I took a sip.

"I am not what I am. This is not what I envisioned when I first came here, but there are forces that will not let me sleep."

The man's voice sounded crazed. He clearly wasn't sane in any way.

"They keep coming to me, showing me horrible things, escalating every night, until it got physical." Then I watched, in the video, he was taking down his shirt collar. "Look, look. Here's what they did to me!" I nearly had soda down the wrong pipe, watching as he showed deep scarring around his neck while frantically panting. My eyes widened, staying that way for the duration of his next sentence.

"I'm too afraid to go back into that house now. I fear that whatever malevolent force is there intends to kill me! S-So I'm living here in the cellar. It's-it's cold. It's smelly, a-and despite appearances, I am not crazy!"

Sure, sure you aren't, pal…well, then he got into, you know, who he was, exactly. It was a relief to know, but it was still…ugh, unsettling!

"I am an academic. I am an author," he said in the video. Keep in mind, he still sounded crazed. "Okay, from the beginning. Today is October 11, 2005. This recording will be my last testament."

So…this man is _dead_? That was my first thought, obviously.

"Um, I want to tell the truth, as much as I know of it. Fact: my name is Dr. Elias Cunningham. I am a professor at Bradley University," he described. "Fact: I came here two months ago to begin research on my new book about the Roanoke Colony disappearance of 1590. I was staying with my colleague, Professor Lawrence MacLean."

I paused it. Lawrence MacLean? I immediately put two and two together. Barbi and Sarah…they were his daughters, maybe? Definitely related, I know that.

"He is now dead, but he has two daughters. Both with bright red hair. You couldn't miss them." Yup, I got my answer. I continued to watch, listening carefully. This man was clearly NOT stupid. Just really crazy, it seems.

"They just moved out of this house three days ago. The two girls are orphaned now and live with their uncle. Before moving here, this house had previously been unoccupied for 15 years. The family before them included a father, a mother, two daughters. Had lived in the house only for a brief time before they suddenly vacated. They left all their possessions behind. They left no forwarding address. Just like the two girls taken in by their uncle. No one knows where they live now. They could be in the woods in a shack."

I paused it again, thinking to myself…why Sarah had stopped me in the middle of the road, woods all around us…just to get out with Barbi. It all seemed to be coming together. I continued to listen. I knew this had to do with those two girls.

"Fact: October 2, 2005, just a couple days ago, police were called by one of the little girls, frantic and crying, saying her parents were dead." Oh dear Lord…I…I knew that must have been a horrible experience…those poor girls, I thought at the time.

"I remember being called back here, I was staying here. I was out for the evening and left the girls alone. Thinking their parents would naturally take care of them. I c-come back, I see both bodies, of Lawrence and his wife, Kelly, b-being dragged out. T-They were struggling to put the bodies in bags to be taken away. I saw Lawrence was heavily butchered."

I immediately thought of that woman in colonial clothing. Could it have been her, somehow? It didn't seem to make a ton of sense to me.

"I couldn't even recognize his face. I ran to the little girls. The youngest one cried her eyes out, and the older one had completely flat affect. No emotions, consoling her sister in her arms. Before I knew it, I was out here, and they were gone. The house was put up for sale. They tried to make it presentable. They put in new carpeting, repainted all the walls. But it does no good. Strange things still happen. That house is now vacant. I haven't set foot in that house in days, but I'm going back in there. I don't know if I will survive, but I have to see exactly what it is."

I paused the tape and looked down at my jeans…I couldn't believe it. Barbi and Sarah BOTH lived in this same house I now own? And now they could have been living god-knows-where nearby. I asked myself 'Cole, you sure they're not the ones causin' trouble?'

" _Did you think they were, Mr. Paterson?" the interviewer questioned. Cole just looked down and sighed, his face neutral to the question._

Well, I think it was a bit ridiculous, if that were the case. Like if they were watching me, or...like how would that idea explain Barbi being upset about her uncle's disappearance?

I didn't see them until later than expected, later that week, as I just said. They were too preoccupied with the disappearance of Martin. A few days passed, still no sign of him. I remember even driving to and from work at the lumber mill, seeing posters of his face posted up on trees and light posts, however many were in the area near my house.

They ended up finding him by Saturday. That was when I saw Barbi again. Seeing those tapes and seeing _her_ , how beautiful she was, I actually started to feel terrible for her. I pitied her. Both of them, actually, even though Sarah was always there scaring me. There had been a knock on my door. I rushed to it, I remember it was Saturday afternoon. Before I could tell who it was, I felt small arms tightly hugging me. The first giveaway was the red hair. It was Barbi.

"T-They found him…" she whined, sobbing into my shirt.

"Martin?" I asked, putting my arms just on the sides of her sleeves.

"Yes… h-he was butchered…" Barbi's tears just kept falling. The entire situation was so strange, yet so stressful. I pitied her even more. "W-What I…w- _we_ saw, was real!"

"I know that, but," I pulled her off me and looked down at her, raising her chin up with my hand so we could make eye contact. Those dark eyes just sucked me right in. "Are the cops out there?"

She nodded – "t-they should be here any minute."

My heart skipped a beat. "Why? I-I have nothing to do with this." I sounded like a cold bastard at that moment, and felt absolutely terrible. But what she said next chilled me to the bone.

"S-Something…i-is in the barn…"

"What barn?"

"You have a barn…on your property…" she said. I didn't even know this, but this alone confirmed Professor Cunningham's final testament in the tape I found and watched.

I honestly felt like an idiot to _not_ know all 10 acres of my new property front to back. I mean, 10 acres is a LOT of land for one man. I've only seen a fraction of it, the smallest of it being my own house. Barbi turned around, and a cop, different from ones I have seen since moving to Roanoke, stood in the doorway.

"Are you Collin Paterson?" he asked me.

I nodded.

"Yeah?"

"And you own this property, right?"

I nodded again. "Yes?"

"We need you to come to the station," he told me. My heart skipped a beat again, but I ignored it in favor of the hard comfort of Barbi's hand clenching mine into hers. I also could tell she was just as nervous. But why? She hadn't done anything wrong.

Well…so I thought.

Sarah was already in a cruiser. Barbi and I joined her in the same one, taken to the station. None of us were under arrest, but I was told personally, upon entering the police station, that they needed help identifying 2 people who had been occupying the barn on my property. I hadn't even known there was a barn up until now. I felt like an idiot, again, BUT also, 10 acres is a lot for one man who was always working and making his living despite all the crap going on.

I was called in to identify these two, well, what looked to be young men, or teenagers. I don't even know. I couldn't tell because they both were covered in FILTH, their hair was matted, and their faces contorted like…like demons. They had been given clothes to wear by the police officers, and I saw they were handcuffed in the front, moving their hands as though they were mentally retarded. They…they belonged in a _ward_ , in _strait jackets._ All I heard was loud moans or, whatever sound being made, from them, as they were kept behind a glass windowed room.

It was disturbing to say the very least. But deep down, I was scared.

I seemed they only knew one word. Someone was in there with them, a shrink or something.

I remember her saying in that heavy Southern drawl, with pieces of candy in her hand, "I'll give ya more if ya tell me yer names."

One word was said by the two: "CROATOAN! CROATOAN!"

Barbi and Sarah joined me in the identification room, and I looked to see the flat affect on the eldest sister. Barbi, however was gripping the green stone hanging from her neck. She was closing her eyes, and I could see her taking a few breaths before opening them back up, still holding the pendant.

I had no clue what "Croatoan" meant. It was Pig Latin to me. Well, at the time.

We had been taken back to the farmhouse by the officers about two hours later. The police had gone entirely. They were done investigating. There was nothing else to see. Sarah had gone entirely to God only knew where, while Barbi stuck around with me. She sat on my front porch's steps, sighing and holding the green stone on her neck. I stood in front of her, hands on my hips and sighing. It was that moment, I brought up the word the two mentally retarded boys were saying.

"Barbi," I said.

She looked up at me, her beautiful face just sucking me in, but I knew she had explaining to do. "Mhm?"

"What does 'Croatoan' mean?" I questioned, moving a bit closer.

After a brief silence, she told me: "that's what those boys were saying."

"I know that," I told her. "But I ain't stupid."

She just looked at me as though I slapped her in the face. I just continued.

"You know more than you want others to believe. I ain't blind to it anymore. No more games. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Barbi questioned.

"Don't play dumb," I told her a bit more forcefully. I _never_ was like this, especially with women. I sat next to her, and she inched away, knowing I wasn't really happy with her and her secrets. "I know you know what that godforsaken word meant!"

"D-Don't be like this," Barbi replied.

"Then tell me!" I exclaimed, trying to tone my voice down with her. "Please…"

I saw Barbi hold her pendant, looking down at it. She fixed the skirt of her dress, a gauzy fabric with light-colored embroidery on the front and bottom of the skirt. She was wearing tights and worn-out boots, and her lowr lip just trembled as I heard words come from her.

"This is gonna sound stupid, maybe you won't believe in it," she told me, stammering nervously, "but…C-'Croatoan' is a…a word to…make the evil spirits go away."

I just looked at her. I didn't say anything. I just listened. I didn't want to be unfair and draw conclusions or read into things that weren't there. I saw her sniffle a bit.

"Cole…w-when you moved in…and my sister and…uncle and I, came here to welcome you," she told me, "and…those teeth fell…it's not anything new…" She inhaled sharply through her nose. "My sister and I…used to see it…all the time…and…that word…was the _only word_ to make it all go away."

"I don't understand," I finally said, still trying my best to understand her. It was all nonsense to me, but after living in that house for close to two weeks at that point, and everything happening, it was no shock to me.

"M-My dad was a professor of history at a college about 45 minutes away from here," she continued. "H-He had done research with a colleague of his…about the disappearance of all those people…all those years ago. And…'Croatoan' was…something my dad discovered…" She looked down at the necklace around her neck. "This necklace he got for my mother to further protect her. She loved that stuff." Then she paused again. "Y-You're gonna think I'm crazy!"

"I'm listening," I told her. "What else do you have to tell me. I know there's more."

"There is, I'm getting to it," Barbi said reluctantly. "Well…aside from my dad knowing the word from his research, he didn't know…it was actually a warning."

"A warning?" I was intrigued, for sure.

"Yeah…m-my mom was a believer in all that…paranormal stuff…" Barbi sighed and massaged the stone on her neck with her thumb. "She called a medium…he came to the house. He was from New Orleans. His name was Cricket. He…I don't know if he's still practicing and helping people…but…I remember my dad turned him away…he was mad at my mom for paying him…whatever amount of money she did…called him a con-artist, and he ran…h-he never ended up helping us…he came…briefly for a consultation, and…he first said that word. My dad just brushed it off as hogwash, but…I remember…every time I would whisper the word…or think it…I'd feel better. Like something was lifted…d-do you understand?"

Reminded me of the feeling I got saying my prayers at night. Nothing more. I clasped my hands together and nodded, trying to piece together what she had to say to me.

"There was truth there, in what he said. I do believe him…I was, I think, 8 or 9 when he came to… _this_ house…we _lived_ here," she confessed finally.

"So…you _do_ know what goes on around here?" I asked. I felt like a smart-Alec but…I just listened. Regardless.

"Look, it's not that simple…w-when my parents, well…they died…and…our father's brother took us in. Less than ideal situation, but…we still have a place," she told me. "H-He was…always hunting or…doing something. We didn't have much from that point on…but now…"

My eyes widened in horror. Barbi and her sister were living poor, and right under my nose, too. And in those WOODS, mind you! I shook my head in disbelief. Women, by definition, are weaker than they think they are…they need a provider. If that meant me, then…Uncle Charlie's reason for giving me his assets was prophetic.

"No more," I told her. I inched closer to her and spoke. I felt like a man for the first time in my life. "You and your sister are getting out of wherever you been living all this time. You're both living with me."

Barbi's eyes widened in horror, tears filled them quickly: "no, no, I _can't_."

"You _will_ ," I told her with a bit more force. I could tell I was scaring her, but I couldn't just let 2 women, even if one creeped me out, live on their own. It was un-Christian of me. "You're staying here. I'm sending a UHAUL truck to you two _right now_ , and we are moving you here."

"I can't!" Barbi whined. "Sarah wouldn't be happy!"

"She ain't gonna be much happier staying wherever you've _been_ staying," I told her.

There was no further protest from her. So…I was led, by Barbi, to where she'd been all this time. I was quite shocked to realize how deep in the woods they were, in the midst of all the danger that had gone on. Laying my eyes on it, I was shocked even more. I felt like I was looking at a large scale model of a Lincoln Log cabin. It was so simple, it nearly turned my stomach. Damn, I wasn't totally rich growing up, but my sister and mother back at home lived in something a bit better than that. I was a bit run down and too rustic even for a Southern country boy's liking. I don't even think the scum of white trash would be caught dead in this little house. I questioned myself so hard…how the hell could they have lived this way?

" _Did you see the girl's sister in there?" the interviewer asked, jotting notes down._

Oh, yeah. We did. She wasn't happy either. She looked like she was gonna kill me. Barbi invited me in, and in the entire place, it was one-room and Sarah was cutting vegetables for what looked to be their dinner. Ugh…whatever it was.

"You dumb bitch!" Sarah exclaimed, wide-eyed at me as she yelled at her sister. "He ain't supposed to be here!"

She was literally waving the knife in front of her face. It was a big cleaver, like you'd use for meat. Weird, how she used that for vegetables. I felt like she was going to take that and cleave my skull in half.

"Sarah," Barbi said, going to her sister. "Please! He got a point! We can't be out here anymore! It's not safe! Our old house is better than-"

"WE ARE SAFE!" Sarah had saliva droplets coming through her gritted teeth. " _I_ keep us safe!" She looked at me and shook her head, the cleaver still in her hand. "We don't need a man to keep us safe!"

It was that moment, she hacked up some spit and spewed it on the floor in front of me. The biggest insult ever. From anybody. If I do say so myself.

I had to think fast. I may not have wanted Sarah with me in the same house, but I wanted Barbi, cared for her more than her sister. I need to do something. So I did. I took Barbi into my arms from behind, and she didn't even flinch, either, which shocked me.

"Okay, have it your way, then," I said, trying to stay calm. "I'll leave you here, but make sure Barbi comes with me."

Sarah's eyes widened, and I felt Barbi's breathing grow heavier, her heart beating under my wrists.

I whispered in her ear, holding her: "you can have anything, and I mean ANYTHING your heart desires. I can provide for you. I'll do anything…I'll get you new clothes, I'll do anything…just…I'll do anything for you except let you live here in harm's way."

Sarah just shook her head, looking at me. She was clearly jealous that someone was there for her sister aside from her. That bothered her, genuinely. I could tell. She was jealous as all hell, looking at her sister like a jealous boyfriend would do to his girl.

I softened her up real fast: "Sarah…y-you, too."

Barbi's breathing and heart rate went back to normal. She wasn't happy now, either. Guess you can't please everyone.

"What the hell could I want from you?" the older sister asked disrespectfully.

"Anything like your sister would want. Comfort, clothes, jewelry…" I offered. No way in hell. I was like a mouse trap waiting to catch this rat. "Just…I can't let you live in harm's way."

Sarah said nothing, putting the meat cleaver down. Barbi turned around and I loosened my arms around her to let her face me.

"Cole," she said. "One condition. You'll do anything."

I held her hand: "YES. _Anything_. What is it you want me to do for you?'

It was unthinkable – "I want to find out if Cricket is still practicing. That house needs to be cleansed. I won't settle for anything less."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _So now you guys know a little more about the MacLean sisters! Yes, by a little, I MEAN A LITTLE! This isn't even their entire story and I am working to include them so that they have a much deeper connection with the storyline Murphy wrote._

 _Please leave_ Reviews _, I love to hear feedback and ideas. Also, feel free to_ Favorite _and_ Follow _!_

 _Thank you all and stay tuned for the next chapter!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

It was unthinkable. Not even an option, not one I had thought of, at least. It just wasn't a thing. I was raised in a mostly fundamentalist family. That hocus-pocus baloney was looked down on by my family. Just because I didn't believe a lot of the crap shoved down our throats in that church, didn't mean I didn't have my own thoughts on psychics, and mediums, and Witches, and all that.

I remember a verse from church that the pastor beat into us repeatedly. From Deuteronomy. 'There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch." Also seen in Leviticus. 'A man or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon them'

I digress. But…if that meant Barbi was to stay in safety with me, then so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make. We started to look up this Cricket Marlowe fella on the Internet. The news stories showed he was involved in FBI investigations, locating dead people and such. Compelling, but…I was still a bit scared.

So Barbi took the liberty of writing him an email, using my email address, and within a few days, we got a call. I gave the phone to Barbi, who spoke to him – apparently he'd been parked outside the house that Tuesday night. I had been working the entire day, so, I was beat tired when I got home. Too tired to hear baloney from some… _necromancer_.

Barbi welcomed him in. I stood by the door, still a bit dirty, wearing a tank top and jeans and my work boots. I had just gotten in an hour before. Cracked a soda open. He came in, and he had not only a thick Southern drawl, but…I reckon he was queerer than a $3 bill. His voice was so…girly-sounding. He was wearing a suit, had thick gray hair clipped in this weird bowlcut-thingy…and…he had this…it was a cane. One of those canes with a metal head on it. Apparently he didn't walk with it. All he did was carry it.

"I was called here," he said.

"Y-You're here really, uh… _early_ ," I said, trying to be a gentleman.

"Oh, sorry," he giggled. "I always assume my reputation arrives 'fore I do." He looked at Barbi, walking a bit toward her. Her hands were clasped lady-like in front of her. "It's been said by many that my ego certainly does, and I don't mean 'called' in any way you be familiar with, via AT&T, or Sprint...if you're particularly gauche."

He was a joker; I shook my head and continued to hear that girly-sounding voice.

"I was sittin' in my home in the uptown district of New Orleans, havin' a Café Du Monde beignet. I was checkin' my email to see…that a young lady I met before was callin' for my help." Cricket looked at Barbi, who nodded and smiled graciously. "My, what a lovely face. You've grown so much."

"You remember me," she smiled.

"Ah, yes. Indeed I do," he said to her, holding her hand and walking with her down the hallway of the first story of my house. "A spirit whispered in my ear that the mystery t' this abduction is only gonna be untangled by a man who knows the comin's and goin's of the other side."

I stopped them before they could fade from my sight into another room: "es'cuse me, but…I don't know where you think you're going with her."

"C-Cole…" I heard her mutter.

"Ah, a Christian man." Cricket's assumption was right, but…I still wasn't buying it. "You've read the Bible cover to cover, many times before. But I can assure you, my gifts are God-given. Gift came to me when I was only nine. My Granny couldn't find her car keys anywhere. I told her she'd accidentally tossed 'em out with a takeout food container. Sure enough…they were there."

I remember Barbi and I looking at his official website. It was all professional-looking and everything. It had a few news articles. One dated from 2011, where he was able to help the FBI locate a boy in the southern Utah desert. He was, miraculously, alive and well. We both had seen pictures of him with the southern regional director of the FBI. There were other stories of him helping find missing persons or dead bodies, murder victims, all over the country.

Compelling? Yes. God-given talent? Can't say that, I'm not the Big Guy. Could I say I was skeptical? Hell to the yes.

Until…he did something none of us could explain. We had gone up the stairs, and he whacked his cane against the floor a few times. I watched Barbi's eyes in amazement…but then I heard footsteps…and, well, a familiar voice.

"Damn it, stop that banging!"

Cricket was clearly stunned. But I looked behind us to see Sarah, her fiery hair messy, and her eyes looking deader than ever, her pale skin practically glowing in the dim light. Cricket's eyes were wide, and he approached a pajama-clad Sarah, who looked at him like the devil making a bargain with a mortal.

"Uh…hello," he said. "I…I don't remember _you_."

"Barbi, what is this bullshit?" Sarah asked her sister meanly, her voice summoning Barbi toward her.

"This is Cricket. He's a psychic medium. I…I thought you'd remember him. He visited the house when we were kids, remember? Mom called him to see what everything was all about-"

"You were taken to Raleigh," Cricket said.

Raleigh, I thought. Why would that be? So I just listened to Cricket…Sarah's reaction said it all. She looked like she was going to kill him right then and there, I swear it.

"Spent 5 months there," he continued. "I see it…y-you weren't here when I was last called. Your mother-"

"This is none of your damn business," Sarah replied.

"So much for introductions," he said rather graciously. "I am Cricket."

Then he kept banging the cane against the floor, but nothing happened. I crossed my arms, until he indicated something of importance…so it seemed.

" _Sh_!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear that?"

I listened – it was laughter. Children's laughter. I couldn't explain it. It was so weird, but…then again, nothing that happened there could be explained.

"Laughter," I said. I was interested now. "T-Tell me…who is it? Do you know?"

He went to what looked to be a small crawl closet on the side of the wall, one I had actually not noticed before, oddly enough…but…he opened it very slowly. Barbi was the first to speak.

"Is that a…"

"A bonnet," Cricket said, looking down at the object. It was more of a coif, really. He took it to his nose and sniffed it, closing his eyes. "Priscilla…"

"Who is Priscilla?" Barbi asked, seeing Cricket with Sarah standing behind her.

"This is ridiculous," the older sister grunted under her breath.

"Priscilla is _real_. Was real, actually," Cricket explained, looking at us with perfect eye contact. "She's a child spirit. She has a fondness for corn husk dolls. S-She died in the late 1500s."

Whoa, whoa. This house wasn't built until the 1700s.

"Wait, this house is 200 years younger than that," I challenged.

"But this is here, and Priscilla is here," Cricket replied. "I…I feel like many a spirit lingers here. It's dark…w-we need to perform a séance this evenin' at the strike of midnight."

Séance? I wasn't buying any of this. And I threw away $800 for him to visit the house…just for Barbi. God, if there was anything negative I could say about her, was that she was gullible.

But…this was for her. I kept my promise like a man should.

That night, we lit a fire in my living room, and we took chairs from the dining room to the coffee table we had. We powered off any lights, and in the center of the table Cricket lit a candle. On the candle, he lit this foul-smelling herb bundle. Sage, I think. But it was nauseating. I felt so awkward during it. Barbi and Sarah just looked at him, each with their own expressions. Sarah was to my side and Barbi was right in front of me. Cricket seemed to be praying or something.

"Spirits of the North, South, East and West. Archangels Uriel, Raphael, Michael and Gabriel; Gods of this earth and the next, please reveal to us what is hidden. Make yourselves known here."

Then he began talking to the air: "Priscilla?"

No answer. I sat back and crossed my arms, shaking my head.

"Priscilla? Sweet Priscilla? We mean you no harm. Come to us, my dear."

Nothing was happening, but within a few minutes of silence, we ALL heard a loud whack in the middle of the coffee table. LOUD WHACK! I'm talking gunfire. I looked the see the candle went out, and it was split. Right down the damn middle! I couldn't believe my eyes! If we had made a pact with Satan, I wasn't down for that. Cricket looked down at us. Barbi was clearly scared, rubbing the stone around her neck.

"Quick! Join hands!"

Sarah had no expression on her face, but all three of us held hands. Sarah's were cold and clammy, while Barbi's were warm and smooth, smelling of the lotion I had gotten for her the day after she moved in with me along with her sister.

"Why are we doing this?" Sarah asked.

"You need your combined strength to keep safe!"

"Priscilla was a little girl, though, right?" Barbi asked worriedly.

"Oh no, this ain't Priscilla. This is another spirit. A woman…a HORRIBLE woman!" he exclaimed.

I looked up at Cricket to see him pull out a card, a prayer card. He began to put his hand out in front of him, and his voice filled the room: "This is the St. John Gualbert, saint of mercy, saint of those who work and live in the forests! I summon his divine power to surround us in white light! YOU MEAN US NO HARM, WOMAN! DO US NO HARM! Our white light surrounds-"

It was only then that I heard a voice, clear as day. Not kidding. It was the same accent, Northern English or Scottish…it was there…and it was STRONG: "I am called The Butcher, and all that invade and threaten my land do me harm."

"Our white light protects us! Why do you haunt this place, dark spirit?" Cricket called out.

"This place is mine," I heard the voice say. "I protect this place, and I will stop at nothing to hold safe this colony."

I was literally shitting my pants. Well, not _literally_ , but…close. This was all too real. No special effects. No wires. I was _in_ that room. I was blown away by this _whole_ situation. I saw tears in Barbi's eyes, but I looked at Sarah – no expression. It was so damn weird.

But even stranger – The Butcher came before us! I could _see_ her. It was a female. Older. I'd seen her before, when she sacrificed Martin with those other…savages. Stringy gray hair, blood on her face, a colonial-styled outfit, very dirty, face wrinkled, and…I saw…a cleaver…just like the one I had seen Sarah holding. I was beyond scared, speechless, beyond _that_ , even.

"I shall stack the bodies high as cordwood," the colonial ghost said. "Had I Priscilla, I'd have flayed and roasted her by now. The bastard seed hath hidden herself away on these hallowed grounds. As for this place, I shall never step a foot off of it. Ever. I must protect it from trespassers such as… _thee_!"

She pointed the cleaver at me. _ME_!

"Oh, honey, this land does not belong to the dead!" Cricket exclaimed. " _You're_ the trespasser! Mr. Paterson bought this house and it is _his_ now! He's _alive_!"

 _CRASH!_

Everyone in the room, including Sarah, jumped at the sound and sight of ALL my windows in the room shattering into a million pieces. There weren't any rocks either. Nothing. The Butcher did it, or whoever…I remember seeing other savages.

"AHHHHH!" Barbi shrieked.

"CROATOAN! CROATOAN! CROATOAN!" Cricket began shouting, holding the prayer card out in front of him. It was the same word that Barbi had told me about, and the same word those retarded boys were saying in the police station in custody.

I felt one of the girl's hands fall loose from mine, and I heard a thud. I looked to see that Barbi had fallen from her chair. I gasped, and went down to her immediately to try and revive her. She fainted. I tried to lightly slap her cheek, but still nothing.

"Barbi! Barbi! Wake up!" I exclaimed. "C'mon!"

Still nothing. I looked to Cricket, speaking firmly – "can you give me a hand, sir?"

He rushed over, but Sarah just sat there, staring at me holding her unconscious sister.

"Oh my," Cricket said, feeling her neck. "She's alive, but don't worry. This happens quite a lot. S-She's receptive."

I just looked at him. "Huh?" That was all I could muster.

"Yes, she's receptive to these spirits. Put her upstairs in her bed. I'll come with you," he offered.

He didn't even need to help me carry her to the guest room I had for she and Sarah. She also happened to be feather light in my arms, and the one thing that kept me optimistic was the scent she carried on her. Light and flowery. When we got to the guest room, I set her down gently, looking to see her beautiful face with her eyes closed and her skin smooth.

"Oh, sweet angel," Cricket said, looking down at her. "The rush of it all…t-that malachite protected her from The Butcher's influence."

I just looked at him. "Huh?" Again, all I could muster.

"That stone on her neck," Cricket said, going over to touch the necklace sitting on the redhead's skin. "For thousands of years, malachite has been a favorite to wardin' off evil spirits. It was her momma's."

"She told me that," I told him. "But…y-you're gonna clean this house out, right?"

"I got all the answers you seek," he told me, patting my shoulder. "These spirits are dark and malevolent, but it's gonna take more than this session and consultation to try to clear 'em out."

I just stared at him. "Y-You…"

"I will help you further if you give me $30,000," Cricket said. "I take Visa, MasterCard, Discover…"

I was really mad by this point. How the hell could I have so stupid just to have two women living in my house under my watchful eye? I took him out of the room and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pushing his back up against the wall in the hallway.

"You con-artist!" I said with firm anger in my voice. "How _dare_ you?! You come into my home, you bang a cane around, you break my windows, only to ask for _more money_?!"

He stuttered, and I was so close to pulling an Uncle Lucas on him: "How can your conventional mind explain away things that you've seen? Things you cannot be processed with terrestrial thinkin'. But my gift _is real_. I tell the truth. Even the FBI pays."

"But I'm not the FBI! For God's sakes! I ain't made of money!" I took the Lord's name in vain, but I didn't care at that point, considering I did some…un _holy_ crap that night. "Does it take an innocent girl fainting for you to see things clearly?"

"I perform a service. I plunge my delicate soul into peril _every time_ someone's home is crowded with uninvited guests…or if a cryin' momma has lost her chickadee. My desire is to help," he explained to me. "You can understand my predicament. When you're peddlin' pharmaceuticals, do you give 'em to all the dyin' children for free?"

I loosened my grip on the front of his shirt, but still held it. I was so mad. He came here to take advantage of us. Barbi was so damn gullible. My god.

" _You made him leave the house, correct?" the interviewer asked._

I did. I just said to him: "Leave. You're an abomination."

And he just walked toward the staircase, saying something like, "You'll be callin' me back here. Guarantee it."

The hell I would.

I made sure he saw his way out. But then went back upstairs to check on Barbi. But what I saw was the strangest thing I had ever seen – she was awake, alright…but she was talking to someone in there. I only heard the conversation vaguely.

"Mom?"

"I don't know what happened. I'm in this bed."

"I have been fine, but miss you awful bad."

Then, even more chilling – "who killed you?"

I backed away from the doorway, pretending I didn't hear that, knowing full well it would escalate to a place I didn't wanna end up. I went to the bathroom, stripped down and jumped into the shower to wash the grime off. After, I went into bed.

I needed to figure out the window situation, how they'd be fixed. But further, I wanted to know why Sarah had been sent to Raleigh…what was there that she needed to be sent away?

I pulled Barbi aside the next day after coming home from work, asking her that question: "look, it's probably none of my business, but…I am really dying to know."

"I don't think you want to know," Barbi replied. "It was…really…uh…"

"Bad?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll do my best to understand and listen," I told her.

She was silent for a moment, sitting down on the porch steps like we had a few days before. I took a seat next to her and looked at her: "our parents sent her away…to a mental institution."

My eyes widened, clearly nervous, but I knew that I was right. There _was_ something wrong with Sarah.

"W-What happened?" I asked.

"W-Well, this isn't easy for me to say," she told me. "But…since you ask…S-Sarah tried to kill me. W-When I was about 8 or 9, s-she held a knife to me…a-and tried to cut my throat. She was 13 when this happened…a-and she was sent away for 5 months straight…"

Her voice was shaky, and I was in shock. I could see the fear in her dark eyes, just…it was…quite a sight. Barbi's fear radiated…you know, when you're at a loud concert or… _some_ thing like that, and you feel the waves of the loud music? Yup. That was her. With her fear.

Tears began to fall, and I held her to me closely. I was secretly fearing for my own life at that moment: "they took her away. I was…an only child for 5 months, but I felt safer without her. Yet…"

"Barbi…" I muttered, patting her back.

"When she came back…s-she was different…no expression," the girl said tearfully. "Not the same, but…I took relief in…that she was, you know…a bit better. It seemed that way…but…then our parents died…I-I'm so afraid to leave, but…I'm more afraid to stay…"

"You had no choice when you were that young, Barbi," I said. "There's no way you could'a left."

"I…I could leave now if I wished, but…"

That statement was a knife to my heart. I felt…I don't know…

" _You let her and her sister move in with you," the interviewer said._

Yeah, and that's why I didn't feel so happy when she said that. So…I said something.

"Barbi…I said I'd do anything for you, but…I can't let you do _that_ ," I told her.

"What?" she asked, looking into my eyes deeply with her dark brown ones.

I took the chance – "letting you leave."

Before I knew it, our faces moved in, closer…closer…until we found ourselves kissing. My heart was racing. It was…so nice…and…my first kiss, actually.

" _It was?" the interviewer asked._

Yes, it was. Barbi's lips were smooth and soft, tasted like…vanilla frosting…it was wonderful. Yup…one of the only GOOD events in that house…being with her, being able to protect her…her sister aside, because she was worth more than anything at all in my life.

" _Uh…could you please tell us about the next event in your…uh, experiences?" Cole was asked._

Oh…uh…let me remember…

" _Take your time, we are still rolling."_

Oh, we are? Hm, can't you just stop so I can try to remember?

" _We have to keep rolling," the interviewer said. Cole took a few extra minutes to fully recall and gather what he remembered._

I had these…crazy dreams. I…wrote them all down. But even without that, I remember them clearly because they were so strange. I was, again, really creeped out. I was not myself in these dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTE:** _This chapter has a shift in perspective. The usual story is first-person, but then it turns third-person during this chapter in particular. Just saying this to prevent confusion amongst the readers. Also, I want to give a little warning that_ _ **this chapter briefly describes content that may be triggering or disturbing to some, so discretion is advised**_ _!_

 _Hope you're enjoying! Read on…_

* * *

 **Chapter 6:**

These dreams were vivid. I still remember them. I remember that night, actually, I went to bed and fell asleep. Obviously I was tired from a hard day's work, but…I found myself in the clothing. You know, like a colonist.

I remember seeing, in the dream, it was early evening, and the air smelled of…bad BO and burning wood. I heard babies crying, and I remember passing a few mothers with their babies. All were wearing coifs and period costumes. I got closer to where I saw a fire burning in the center of this group of tents I found myself among. There was a line of people leading to the fire, and I had joined the line. The person in front of me smelled like they hadn't showered in heaven knows how long. I also found I was holding a pewter cup. Smelled bad and was dirty. Unwashed dishes were never a thing growing up, let's just say that.

Before I knew it, the man in front of me was being served God knew what in his cup…and I saw…you'll never guess. Thomasin, the Butcher. It was so strange. She had a pleasant demeanor. It shocked me. I still remember what was said between the two in the dream.

" _Which was?" the interviewer asked._

The man in front of me was a…uh, Mr. Cage. He said: "This thin gruel will not quiet our bellies. We need real food."

Then, I hear Thomasin, rather graciously: "be grateful for what thou art given. We women only receive half a share."

Then…I see a tall man with messy, long black hair and a messy beard. He says to the woman, "Mother, the people are starving. Winter is almost upon us. We must venture inland if we are to survive." I realized it was her son, Ambrose.

Then, he turned to Mr. Cage in front of me, who spoke to him: "We agreed, Sir, that such a perilous course of action requires much prayer and consideration."

"Nothing shall be considered," Thomasin cut in. "We stay where my husband has left us. Until then, I shall hear no more from thee."

 _The interviewer nodded, listening to Cole's memory of the first dream he had that was out of the ordinary. "Was that all? There were more after this, you said, correct?"_

Yes.

There were more. I think, _4_ more, after this.

But I do remember that the next one, after this, was absolutely terrifying.

I was having my head locked in this cage thing. There were these spikes on the outside. If I were to reach into the cage to try and, say, feed myself, my arm would be all cut up. There were men around me, each speaking to me in their, you know, language of the time. I could easily smell myself, I was dirty and unclean. Like…at the same time, I was NOT myself. I was in someone else's body. It was so weird.

I heard the first voice: "A leader shall only lead with the consent of the governed. Thou hast lost our allegiance."

"Thou art hereby removed from thy position," another voice said, "and banished from our protection." It was the same man as in the other dream. Mr. Cage.

I found myself screaming: "YOU TRAITOROUS WRETCH! RELEASE ME! I will see to it that thou shalt hang!"

"I shall live," Mr. Cage replied, "as we all shall as we travel inland."

"P-Please," I heard another voice say. I realized it was Ambrose; he seemed so sad and even a bit shaken up. "She won't survive."

 _She_? I'm _not_ a she. I'm a _he_. That's what made me realize I wasn't in my own body. Mr. Cage spoke again.

"Let God's will be done," he said.

"Beg for reprieve," I heard Ambrose say, as he locked the back of the torture device so it was stuck to my neck. The weight on my shoulders was unreal. Well, it _felt_ real, actually.

"I bend my knee to NO MAN!" I found myself screaming.

I don't remember the rest, but I remember finding myself in this…clearing. I felt hungry and tired in my dream. All I remember saying was "I repent. I repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is nigh."

That's when I woke up. I remember breaking a sweat. I rushed to get water. It was still early, too. Didn't need to be at work until 7 AM but I still was up for 2 hours before that because the dream horrified me so much.

" _Tell me about the third dream, Cole," the interviewer said. Cole just froze, blinking blankly, his blue eyes expressionless. His face turned cold and pale. He looked down at his lap, not even thinking twice about continuing. It seemed to all just flow from him. It was vivid in description and petrifying in thought._

Well…

I had a dream two nights later. It was the third dream I had. It felt so long, too. I surprisingly slept through it all. When I woke up, though…

" _Tell me the dream first, Cole, if you please," the interviewer inquired. Cole began to sound irritated and erratic._

I'm getting to it, if you let me. Geez.

 _After a pause, Cole started talking again, a grim, blank expression on his face_ – well…it seemed to leave off where I was out in the clearing. Except it was clearer. I could see trees upon trees around me. It was, again, really weird. That painfully hungry feeling swept over me again, and I was more tired in this dream than ever in my life. My shoulders and neck also hurt really bad. I think…I was abandoned. Left with nothing but prayers to save me. I…was dying…I was so hungry. Losing hope real fast, too.

I remember saying to myself, crying: "Lord, if it be your will that I'm to be torn apart by wild beasts…I…I surrender my soul for your safe keeping."

Then I heard…this awful noise. Like an animal being slaughtered. It was…wait…let me remember.

Okay, wait. I remember now.

I-It was a pig squeal. And I heard a knife blade, too. And blood splatter noises.

I was truly horrified at this point. But…it didn't end there. Before I knew it, this…I don't know, creature…came up to me. She had this…whisper…like a demon. It was frightening, and her looks…now, if she had brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth, and wore clothes that weren't rags, she would have been beautiful. She also had a…set of antlers or horns on her head.

I look through the bars on the device I'm locked into…and…I see this woman…she takes out a heart. A _beating heart_. She holds it toward me. It's still miraculously beating. I can't believe my eyes.

"Serve…" she whispers. "Eat…and surrender thy soul to me…"

I felt like Eve being tempted by the devil in Genesis. Before I could reach for the heart, I heard this loud sound. My eyes were shut, and…they opened to reveal that…the torture device was now broken. Completely off me…

That was all.

" _What happened when you woke up?" the interviewer asked. Cole was reluctant to answer, but when he did, he only grew more frantic._

T-Turn off that camera.

" _We can't, we-"_

Turn it off! NOW!

* * *

The producer and interviewer both signaled the end of the interview, and Cole burst from his seat in the director's chair, storming out of the studio. He made his way out of the back door of the building, only to seat himself on the cement steps from the emergency exit. He reached into his pocket, taking out a small, wooden cigarette case and a lighter. He took the butt end to his lips and lit the end, taking a drag of the fresh, menthol tobacco. Cole kept it in his mouth as he put the lighter and case back into his pocket. Suddenly, he heard a voice.

"When did you start smoking?"

Cole turned around, ruffling his dark blond hair and his blue eyes looked at the interviewer, standing in the doorway. He was tall and young, perhaps in his late twenties to early thirties, with bright blue eyes, an intense jawline, and thick eyebrows that stood out and matched his brown hair. He held nothing in his hands, not even his pen and paper, walking toward the subject of the interview as the nicotine-rich emissions from Cole's lungs filled the vicinity around them.

"After the move," Cole replied, sounding a bit calmer.

"Listen," the interviewer said, sitting next to Cole. "I'm sorry for-"

"D-Don't apologize," the man replied. "Look, if anythin', I'm sorry for runnin' off like I did. It's not called for but…"

" _Shh, shh_ , it's okay," the interviewer said. "Look, I know this entire experience has been heavy. You _did_ agree to do this interview."

"I know that," Cole said, tapping the ash off the end of the cigarette as he took another drag, "and I'm really sorry for runnin' off set like that. Just that…" He paused, breathing some cigarette smoke from his nose, "m-my shrink told me to stay away from other people when I…well, when I have…you know…"

"I-I understand," the interviewer said.

Cole just looked at the man who had been interviewing him. He took a few more deep, heavy drags of the cigarette before stomping it out beneath his shoe on the ground.

"This don't help either," the young man chuckled. "My dad used to roll his own."

"Mr. Paterson," the interviewer said, "if you want to just skip that part of the interview, then we can. I'll make sure they edit all that out and you can go back in there-"

Cole just shook his head: "no. You said yourself, I agreed to this interview. I'm gonna go back in there and tell 'em, whoever's watchin', what happened."

* * *

 _The interview continued; Cole re-entered the studio and took his place back in the director's chair with the interviewer across from him. He was bold, and he had agreed to this. No turning back._

That woman was…moving on top of me.

I was inside her.

I didn't want it.

And…I wanted to save that for my wife…

But aside from this, I…I woke up…on grass. I was in the woods. I woke up to Barbi peering in as well. She was horrified. I could tell.

"W-What happened?!" I cried out in shock.

"What in God's name are you doing?" I heard Barbi ask.

"I-I don't know, I _swear_!" I screamed. I was exposed. My, uh, _manhood_ was out. I was quick to hide it as soon as I noticed. I stood up, and looked around me, seeing if that creature was there, the one who…s-straddled me. Then I felt hands on me – let a scream out.

"It's me! _Shh_!" Barbi exclaimed.

" _Where is she_?!" I said, collapsing to my knees. I began to cry. "Where is she?! _Who_ is she?!"

I never sobbed so much in my life. It…it was horrible. I felt her arms around me, like…I felt like I was in my mom's arms again. I felt her pat my back, lulling me…the typical 'calm down' sort of thing.

It did nothing. I wanted a shower more than anything. I was…violated.

" _Can you tell us more about Cricket Marlowe?" the interviewer asked. "Did he ever return?"_

You read my mind. I saw him later that day, actually. I didn't want him coming by, but…Barbi was her usual, graceful self. He came in. I had been in the living room. Sarah was sitting by the window; creepiest sight ever, if I ever did see. I spent 3 hours in a hot shower. Screw the water bill. I felt like God was cleansing me with that hot water.

When he entered, he took a seat across from Sarah, whose eyes went from the window to the small, effeminate old man. He greeted her, but…she ignored him.

"Hello, Sarah," he said. "Barbi let me in again, I hope y'all will accept my help this time."

"I'm not paying you that ungodly amount of money," I told him. "You can get lost right now."

"You've had a helluva mornin'," he told me. "Listen, I'd be willin' to help you for free from here on out…because I know of somethin' that could be of use to you in cleansin' this house and removin' them off the property for good."

Barbi stepped in. I couldn't say no: "Cole, please…h-he's making a deal with you. Please let him help us. I won't stay a second longer in this house if—"

"Fine."

I gave in. I even gave him the bed in the extra guest room until everything was over. It took me a bit to open up to him, but I was dying to know about those dreams. So…it was dinner that night. Cricket liked the food, and was impressed that Barbi had made it. It was beef stew with fresh baked bread. A poor man's meal, but, hey, man's gotta eat!

"I must tell y'all," Cricket said, "I know what we're dealin' with. You may think you know the whole story of the Roanoke disappearance, but you don't."

"It's been told to all us kids since kiddie school," Sarah said. "What's there to say?"

"Lots," Cricket said, sipping some Coke from his glass. "After being asked to leave your home here, I took a stroll in the woods and I realized…my mind was blasted."

Barbi just looked at him, finishing off the piece of bread she dipped into the stew. I also listened in.

"The spirits in this place downloaded to me like a…a paranormal zip drive," Cricket continued. "Remember the woman who sliced the candle in half?"

We all nodded, looking at him.

"Her Christian name was Thomasin White. Her husband was the governor of the Roanoke Colony. Life was harsh for settlers, and John was told to go back to England to get supplies," he explained. "He left her in change 'til his return. However, the colonists weren't happy with her stubbornness, feedin' them barely anythin' to line their bellies. T-They left her for dead, stuck an iron cage on her head."

That was the dream I had. I was…well, in the same situation.

"She was abandoned in the forest for days," Cricket continued, "dyin' of hunger and thirst. She had lost all hope. All that was left were her prayers. She was nearly attacked by a wild boar, until a woman saved her. This woman gave Thomasin a live beatin' heart to eat, and that it would help her regain her strength, so long as she served her."

I heard the clank of a spoon against the inside of a bowl. It was Barbi, who looked at me with raised eyebrows. She lost her appetite, but kept listening.

"So…then what?" I asked.

"Thomasin went back with the woman, and reclaimed her rightful place as first lady of the colony. She spared her son, but killed the rest who planned to travel inland for winter," he explained.

I looked at him, but couldn't help but notice the smug expression on Sarah. Her hazel eyes sparkled creepily, and there was a devilish smile in her lips. I tried to ignore it and listen to Cricket further.

"The colony moved here," he continued, "The Butcher claims dominion, and will kill you all if you do not leave this land."

I watched out of the corner of my eye at Barbi, who looked nauseated as she rubbed the malachite on her neck with her thumb. She looked down, and then to me.

"We should leave," she said to me, "he's right."

Truth is, I couldn't. I had spoken to a real estate agent who said that my money was pretty much tied up in the house. I was stuck there.

" _I see," the interviewer said. "Now, let's go back to those tapes for a minute, and Professor Elias Cunningham. Did you suspect he was dead at all?" Cole's eyes just widened._

Oh, I'm ahead of you on that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

I came across Elias in my own home. I was so shocked.

I came home from work a week later, actually, and I saw this debonair-looking guy with a neat beard and suit jacket with a black turtleneck underneath it, fine slacks but I wouldn't say they were top dollar. He was standing up, and Barbi was sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed at the ankles. She looked pale and shaken up.

"Barbi?" I asked, making my way toward her. I sped up. "Are you okay?" I went to my knees, glancing over at Elias. "Y-You…"

"I'm sorry, introductions are long overdue," he told me. He sounded totally insane in the tapes, but in real life…it wasn't much different, if anything. He had that wild look in his eyes, still, just like the tapes.

"W-Where did you come from?" I questioned. "I…I saw those tapes! I thought you were-"

"Dead?" he cut in, chuckling. "No, no. I was staying here, but have stuck around the whole time." He stopped, correcting himself. "Well, _technically_ , I only stayed here for six months in 2005, but had to leave when…" I could tell he was being careful of what to say around Barbi, "Mr. and Mrs. MacLean passed. No one who knew the history of this place would touch it. I must say, what confused me more," he paused, going toward me and Barbi, sitting down next to her, "is that you and your sister are _still_ here. I could have sworn you had gone elsewhere. You were so young when…all of that happened."

Barbi nodded slightly: "y-yes. We were taken in by our uncle…b-but…he is gone now…Cole was kind enough to let us live with him."

"Oh?" Elias looked at me, and I raised my hand.

"They were out in the woods," I said. "The Christian in me didn't want them alone. Especially after what happened. It was terrible."

Elias lounged back on the sofa and sprawled his arm outward. "You don't say."

I just stared at him, long and hard. I couldn't believe this man, but I knew that he knew things I didn't. Even in the tapes, he said he was a professor, doing research in this godforsaken corner of the country. However, I still wasn't answered, because all he did was ramble about him sticking around. Was Barbi afraid because he had suddenly showed up? That was my first thought, but…it wasn't the case. So I asked.

"How did you get in my house?" I asked.

His answer chilled me to the bone – "this young lady here was being attacked by Mr. Piggy."

I raised my eyebrows: "Mr. Piggy?"

"Well," Barbi said, trying to get the words out, still shaken up. "I…I was trying to take a bath upstairs and…the minute I open the curtain, I…" She began to cry, and I held her close, ruffling her red hair. "I see this ugly thing! He had a pig's head! A-And he tried to _stab_ me! I ran and I ran, I nearly tripped down the stairs and I tried to get away but he kept appearing! He blocked the door, and I hear…"

She stopped, crying frightfully: "what did you hear?" I asked.

So she said, in a whisper: "Croatoan".

There was that word again. Those retarded boys, Cricket, and now Elias saying it. I knew it was a protective word, but then Elias stepped in to give his say.

"What is _with_ this word?" I asked aloud. "I keep hearing it. First those boys, _then_ Cricket, and now _you_. He told me it was protective."

Elias said what he had to: "The word 'Croatoan' was actually a message carved into a tree, left by the settlers for the others so they could find the lost colony. It is actually a word of dark power and blood magic."

I looked down, seeing the skirt of Barbi's casual, mint green dress. I held her hands into mine, feeling that…I don't know…mutual uneasiness, I guess is the word? But yeah…he knew things. I knew that.

"I'm important to you for your survival," he told us, making my eyes widen a bit. "You want me here."

I was a bit skeptical, especially since we had Cricket staying with us. He wasn't that big a crock as I thought previously, but this man here…he was from the tapes! I watched those tapes, as disturbing as they were. He knew stuff…and I knew damn well he'd be important to us.

He took me (just me) down into the cellar of the house and led me to where he had stored and left his research behind. It was close to sunset, after we all had dinner. He took out a couple files from the drawer, and I took a gander at one. This had information from the building of the house.

"You have them all in order," I pointed out.

"Yes. That was Edward Felippe Mott, the first to disappear from this house," Elias told me. "Be aware, you've got your hands on a chunk of my life's work here. Be careful."

He just had them coming…files on files on files…it was endless. Aged pages upon aged pages of details about people who had also been affected by the pull on this house.

" _Do you remember any of the content based on what Professor Cunningham told you?" the interviewer asked._

Yes. Of course. One particular case was that of the Chens in the '70s. They were from Taiwan, and they wanted to live the American Dream, you know? Full immersion. According to Elias, they adopted American names and they spoke only English in the house. They were immigrants and nobody told them the history of the land around them. They were dumber than doornails, I'd say, but it wasn't like, you know, they were told. So, the Chens fought back by praying to their ancestors, and they made offerings to protect them from evil. They were no match for what was already there.

"I guess they never had a chance," Elias told me.

That was the first I read, that I can remember. Then I took a gander at another case from the '50s, where three hunters turned their guns on each other. Heads blown clean off. Craziest thing I had read about that house.

But…what he said next, really disturbed me. It was something about the moon phases. It sounded like a bunch of Satanic mumbo-jumbo to me, but I still listened, given the entire situation.

"Every death, every missing person, takes place during the same lunar cycle in October," he explained. "The Native Americans called it the Dying Grass Moon. It's six, blood-drenched days lasting from the first quarter moon, to the blood moon. Now, the spirits can haunt you at any time. They can show themselves, or not, but during _this_ period, this is when they can kill."

"Oh Good Lord," I muttered, putting a file back where I had found it with his other work. "T-This explains everything. Y-You know, Barbi and Sarah's uncle, Martin?"

"The one they were taken in by?" Elias asked, looking down at an open file. "Go on."

"I…I witnessed him being…sacrificed," I revealed, "and…I saw Barbi that same night. I was so scared…t-they were doing devil worship." I paused, gulping hard with a dry throat. "I…I had Barbi call the police. Before that, someone slit my dog's throat and left him on my porch. I called the police, but by that point, the police would've thought I was crying wolf about this event. But…they sent out search parties for him. But Barbi and I knew he was dead. They found his body just lying in the woods, butchered, mutilated. Police came to _my_ house because they found two tards in the barn."

I heard Elias sigh: "I remember when those girls were young. Lawrence, their dad, was a friend of mine. A respected colleague. Bright professor. Students loved him."

"D-Do you know exactly…how they were, you know-"

"Killed?" Elias asked.

I nodded.

He answered: "here's the weird thing…I've always had my suspicions about those girls."

"No, no," I disagreed so hard at that point. "Barbi couldn't have killed her own parents. She ain't like that, and she would've been too young-"

"I'm not talking about Barbi. There's _no way_ it was her," Elias said.

"Then…who?" I asked slowly, moving a little closer for a more private talk between men.

He began to whisper: "well, I recall coming back. Remember that I had been staying with the MacLeans to do research for my book. Anyways, I was out for the evening. The police were called. I think Barbi was the one to call 911. I heard that she was frantically crying. She was only a little girl. I can only imagine what she must have felt, seeing her parents butchered up on the floor like they were."

" _Butchered_?!" I exclaimed under my breath. I was shocked. The only thing I could have possibly thought was that the ghost of Thomasin killed them.

"Yes. I remember seeing them close Lawrence's body bag. He was covered head to toe in blood. His face was so terribly disfigured that I couldn't recognize him," Elias told me. "I went to check on the girls. Sarah was trying to console Barbi, who was still sobbing madly. Sarah, though…I don't know. I've always felt something was off with that girl."

I couldn't believe it, but I continued to listen to Elias. He was exactly who I needed to reveal the truth of it all to me, even if they were vague impressions he'd gotten from staying with them that time.

"I had known Lawrence for quite a few years, since before even Sarah was born. We went to the same university. I remember him and Kelly, his wife, being overjoyed to welcome a baby girl into the family. Well, when Sarah turned 4 years old, that was when Kelly was pregnant with Barbi. I remember Lawrence and I would go out once a week for drinks, and he'd tell me the darndest things Sarah would say."

I just looked at him and nearly shook my head, but asked: "what did she say?"

"Kelly had been pregnant, and was just starting to show," he said to me. "Lawrence told me that Kelly had been just relaxing, and Sarah came into the room. She said something to the effect of, 'I'm so excited to welcome your baby sister.' Sarah's response was, according to Lawrence, 'you know, they're gonna have to cut it out of you…I think that baby just might crawl from your mouth.'"

I was terrified at this. I felt my body shaking. It didn't surprise me that she'd say that, though. But, the kicker was, Elias told me that Barbi was born via c-section. Can't explain something like that. I just responded with this _look_ on my face.

"There was another time," he said, "and it was so peculiar. It happened to be a few days before the death of Lawrence and his wife. She had been taking a fit over something or other. I also knew that Sarah had held a knife to Barbi's throat and was locked away in Raleigh for half a year as a result. I was staying at the house during the time she was away. She seemed to be better-behaved when she returned, however, but…this is why I have my suspicions about the girls."

I was dying to hear why. I was tired of the rambling. But he got to it. Sarah had said during her outburst, "You all can just _die_! Then I'll hate you even _more_ , and let the dog chew on you!" I was…terrified, to say the very least, knowing she was now under my roof. With Barbi. Just down the hall from me in my bedroom.

"I…can't believe it," I said, "but it isn't like I could be surprised either. She creeps me out. E-Even when we met."

"It wasn't Barbi, nor The Butcher," Elias said. "It was Sarah. I do believe it was her."

" _How did you feel about this? Knowing that you likely had a living killer under your roof?" the interviewer asked. Cole stroked his chin and sighed, sipping his water._

Terrified. Absolutely terrified. I would have kicked her out, but Barbi was glued to her sister like a baby to her momma. Yet all of this was hearsay, and Elias said that he was out of the house when their parents were killed. So…unless he had concrete proof, I wasn't going to buy it.

But…there was one thing I did find out more about.

" _Which was?" the interviewer asked, jotting it down on his notepad._

That…creature who… _mounted_ me.

" _Do you wish to tell us more, Mr. Paterson?" he asked._

Yes, that's why I'm here.

So here goes: I trusted Cricket enough by a week of him staying with us, that I told him about… _what happened_ to me. We were in the kitchen, Barbi and Sarah were already asleep, it was 5 of 11 in the evening. He'd been looking around for a drink; Coke Zero or whatever. I don't carry that crap. Pepsi or Dr. Pepper is the go-to for me.

"I'd murder someone for a Coke Zero." When he said that, I felt so uncomfortable. I was already at the table with my Dr. Pepper. Then he looked behind himself at me: "do you have any?"

"Nah, Coke regular or Dr. Pepper," I said. "Help yourself."

He grabbed himself a drink and came back. That's when I gave him the details. He just listened to me, sipping his drink quietly, taking in, you know, every word I was saying. To say the least, I knew he felt bad, but something about him seemed… _off_ , maybe even a little troubled. But I wasn't looking for sympathy. All I wanted was answers, and sure enough, I got them.

"Cole," he said, reaching for my hand, "I got it all from the horse's mouth. I swear, I had my wits about me. I saw her before that happened to you…and I lived to tell the tale. That woman, she is the _true_ power of this land."

"S-She an Injun, or?" I was curious.

"No. Beyond what you could imagine. Beyond what I was able to imagine at the time," Cricket told me, letting my hand go. "She blinded me. All I remembered before wakin' up was dust bein' blown in my face, but I was in a dream." He stopped. "Wait, not a dream. I was literally taken back in time."

I just looked at him with…amazement. Who ever knew this was possible, huh? So, like anything else, I just listened.

"She is the true leader of the Roanoke colony," he told me. "The mistress behind the Butcher and all of her wraiths. She took my hand, and the black veil was lifted. I was no longer in the forest. She had hurtled me centuries into the past, smack dab in the middle of one of the greatest unsolved mysteries there ever was. _Your_ house, _this_ land, is the site of the _true_ lost colony of Roanoke. But they were never lost. They came here, and they were livin' in the horn of plenty. Except it didn't come for free. There was a price to pay for all this bliss. People were sacrificed, especially children. Thomasin led the rituals. That was how that poor young girl Priscilla died. Her head was crushed under the weight of a rock."

That's when it all came together. They lived in plenty not because of their Christianity, but…human sacrifice. They practiced devil-worship! For heaven's sake. When I said this, he corrected me, but…I wasn't having it deep down. There is one God and his son was Christ, sent to earth to die for our sins. Simple as that.

"There are older religions, crueler than anyone could imagine," he told me. "Yet not all were on board for this little turn to the dark side. Thomasin's son, Ambrose, was a devout Christian even still as his mother served this woman, and warned his mother. Begged to pray for her soul when the Last Judgement came, said that this woman tainted her mind and conscience. Ambrose led the colony to abandon Thomasin once again, but…the woman came up with a way to punish them all and help Thomasin in order to obtain eternal favor with this woman from the woods. And so, Thomasin and her mistress, pretended to be spoken to by Christ, and pretended to want reprieve from the colonists. Fruits were passed around, but they were toxic. Within moments, everyone foamed from the mouth. Thomasin turned on Ambrose, who was chokin' to death, and stabbed him in the heart. The woman of the woods looked on to see Thomasin continue to massacre the colonists, soakin' herself in blood. As a final bloodshed, Thomasin knelt before the woman, who slashed her throat to seal the dark sacrament."

I was so dumbfounded. All of this happened on MY land. Cricket was like a second history book, with Elias with us, too. And I believed every word of what he was saying by this point. None of that 'Christianity forbids it' bullcrap, not even that skepticism from logic and reason. This was all VERY real.

"So you see," Cricket continued, finishing his drink, "it was a blood sacrifice to the ancient gods, an offerin' so great it consecrated this ground, bondin' them to all of it for eternity. That's why every year, on the anniversary of the slaughter, these spirits go from bein' merely loathsome to lethal."

"Elias said the same thing," I said. "Something about a Blood Moon."

"Yes," Cricket said. "Six days in October are the days of the most sacrifices on this land by the spirits."

"But…the woman," I said, "you didn't answer me. Who _is_ she?"

He answered me within a few moments. I was dying to know, and sure enough, I found out.

"Her name is Scáthach," he told me, sounding a bit scared. "She'd been an English girl, once. A descendant of the Druids and their Roman conquerors. The Druids were the clergical class of the Ancient Celtic people, who worshipped the old gods, before Christ was even a thought. She left England as a stowaway on a voyage that was plagued with misfortune. Many men died, and she was discovered upon landin' in the New World, blamed for the deaths on the journey. They believed it angered the sea gods to travel with a woman on board, and it was decided she would be burned at the stake…as a Witch."

A Witch. I was so shocked. That explained everything. I…I thought of what my Uncle Charlie said growing up, about the devil being in the form of a woman. What if…David had, you know, the SAME thing happen to him…lured away from Christianity by a Witch? I just kept listening, though. I wanted to save my say for after.

"There were other gods demanding blood. More ancient and thirsty gods," he said to me. "The massacre of the white soldiers in the prison Scáthach was kept in was blamed on the Indians and she escaped into the wild. Seemed the old magic and the New World created somethin' new and original."

"She wanted you to understand her," I said finally. "S-She wanted you to join her, and I bet you would've, too."

He just looked at me weird. His eyes were blue and…just eyeing me up and down. Figuring out what my issue was. My issue was my upbringing, that's what. But what he said next chilled me to the bone.

"Thank you for fearin' for my safety," Cricket said, "but I ain't David."

David is my fourth cousin, as you'll remember from the beginning of the interview. He died in the '80s in a car crash. Didn't even mention him to Cricket at all, either. Speechless.

"Yes, David did everythin' for the woman he loved," Cricket told me.

"Tell me," I said, leaning in a bit. "Tell me what happened to David. Why did Uncle Charlie hate him so much? What did he mean when he said the devil in the form of a woman took his soul away?"

David was our family's black sheep. I was barely told about him except the crap Uncle Charlie's diarrhea-mouth spat. I wanted to know more about him, and if Cricket knew, I wanted the answers.

"Elina was a young girl in the '70s, and she lived in _your_ town with her family on a farm," Cricket said. "Elina was an extremely beautiful girl, so beautiful she was _freakish_ with…white hair and fair skin and fiery eyes. She was a descendant of Swedish Witches through her mother, an expatriate from Sweden. At such a young age, she was already showin' so much power. She and her mother, along with the rest of the family, attended church to keep that balance in their lives, but for young Elina, it went only so far. David set eyes on her, and did all he could to win her heart, despite the age difference."

I looked at him: "h-he was a pedophile?!"

"No, no," Cricket said, "he was not. But I will tell you, he was 17 at the time they met. She was much younger. I'd say 12 or 13. His father warned him and warned him about Elina, fearin' that she'd harm him. David began to take up the occult in college. His father was angry with this, and the last time she and him were in the same vicinity, your Uncle Charlie was tossed a couple of tens of feet in the air and was injured…by Elina, the young Witch who stole away David's heart."

I was so…amazed. Again. I knew my mom's side of the family were fundamentalist Christians. Here I was, thinking they'd have the hand of God at their sides…but no. David was raised religious and was tempted by a Witch away from the faith. This same Witch hurt my Uncle Charlie…he wasn't lying when he said this, either. When Uncle Charlie was alive, he'd often spit out that 'a Witch is the reason I'm in a wheelchair' nonsense…but now it was real. All real.

Then I began to have thoughts about Barbi. No way in hell she was a Witch.

"David is dead," I said, looking down at the table.

"He is," Cricket said.

"But what about the Witch? Elina, is her name?" I asked.

I felt relief in his next words. Well, partially: " _Was_ , you mean? She also is deceased. Her daughters and son are still alive and thrivin' in New Orleans."

"How'd she die?" I asked.

"Let's just say," he said, getting up and leaning to pat my shoulder: "stuck in limbo is the worst kind of Hell you could experience."

I didn't know what he meant, but I'm glad he gave me some answers. Truth is, I was living in hell. That house was Hell compared to anything I've ever experienced that was bad.

Ironically, Cricket actually suggested Witchcraft to get the spirits off the land. I didn't even object. I didn't care anymore. I wanted it all to stop. He was getting prepared to get some stuff from his suitcase: apparently herbs, candles, a book of chants, or whatever he needed. They were in his room.

I hadn't seen Elias Cunningham in a while, nor had I seen Sarah within the next day or so. Elias was gone longer. I had no clue as to where. He probably was out doing research, continuing his project.

The next night…

 _Cole trailed off fearfully, sniffling and holding back empathetic tears. The interviewer looked at him and asked him a question: "what happened the next night? After seeing Cricket about all this?"_

Something…terrible. Elias was right, that's all I could say. He had been gone for a while, without saying here he'd be. I thought he was just doing research. I couldn't be any more than wrong.

I heard a scream from downstairs. I rushed down, and it was Barbi. Cricket had gotten to her first, and we saw her by the window. Outside, there was the ghost mob, all of the colonists with torches and knives and God only knew what…and…I…I can't believe it, to this day, what we saw before our very eyes.

" _What was it?" the interviewer asked._

It was…Thomasin…Ambrose…and being held…was Elias.

" _Who else?"_

 _Cole took a minute before answering_ : it was Sarah.

My Lord, he was right, because what we saw next…and heard…and felt…i-it's still something I talk to my shrink about to this day. Sarah…didn't even look like she was being held captive or anything. She was just… _there_.

I opened the window and looked out to them, shouting: "WHAT IN GOD'S NAME ARE Y'ALL DOIN' WITH HIM?"

Cricket didn't seem pleased behind me, and Barbi was just crying. Poor girl must've been horrified to see her sister in the crowd of ghosts.

"This land is MINE!" I heard Thomasin's ghost shout. "Time for bartering has ended. It's time for the land to be reclaimed and consecrated with _fresh blood_."

"NO! DON'T HURT HIM!" I screamed. "Let him go, and I swear to Jesus, I'll pack up and leave the state! I PROMISE!"

"Time for bartering has ended!" Thomasin cried, almost like a battle shout.

Then…I heard Elias…his last words…for real, this time. Not on a tape.

"Give _that_ little bitch to your land!" he cried out, pointing to Sarah at the side. "She's a monster! She killed her own parents!"

I looked at Barbi's sullen face, then to Cricket's scared one, and the next time I glanced out the window…t-that's when I saw it.

Sarah was called by Thomasin to…cut Elias' stomach open…and…

" _Take your time," the interviewer said, "I know this is all very heavy to remember."_

It is…I…I'm sick just thinking about this. I remember nearly throwing up on Barbi. It was _that_ …UGH!

 _Cole paused, shaking his head and shedding some tears._

That poor man…h-he was our…only hope of concrete facts…about the happenings there. I just…watched…and Sarah…s-she took a hook from Ambrose, and…dug it into Elias' entrails…disemboweled him!

It was beyond chilling – s-she had no expression of remorse or guilt. It was like, she enjoyed this… _disgusting_ act.

S-She yanked them out…Thomasin kept telling her to stand back…and…E-Elias was dead within minutes…bled all over.

Cricket caught Barbi. She fainted out cold. Face pale like the moon. He was still horrified, though.

"Oh dear Lord," he said with a sob. I had the gall to just stand there…and hear Thomasin speak to Sarah.

"I thank thee," she said to her. "You've offered another sacrifice for this land. You shall be rewarded greatly."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _So…plot twist! Usual of me, but it was coming one way or another!_

 _Please leave a_ Review _, and be sure to_ Follow _and_ Favorite _this story!_

 _Thank you all for your continued support on my work ~_


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTE:** _This is a chapter with a_ _shift of perspective_ _, from third to first-person. I'm sorry if this is confusing, but I love experimenting with points of view, especially third-person omniscient to first-person limited. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Cole just sat in the director's chair, looking down with tears in his eyes. The interviewer grabbed a box of tissues and passed it to the subject as he began to cry heavily. The interviewer himself had no idea where to begin when imagining himself in the shoes of the traumatized interview subject. Cole knew he agreed to this interview, but now, he was beginning to regret it. He didn't want to think about the hard time he had with the Roanoke colonists' ghosts, the encounters with the Witch Scáthach, and more importantly, the deaths he had seen with his own eyes. Recalling Elias' death was tougher than recalling his coerced sexual encounter with the woodland Witch.

"Are you alright? Do you want to take another break and come back or…" the interviewer asked. Cole didn't answer, but sobbed into a tissue before blowing his nose into it.

"All this…was testin' my faith," he said breathily. His bright blue eyes were now beet red from the intense emotional display of tears and sobs.

"I understand, Mr. Paterson. This is some…very heavy testimony, if I do say so myself," the interviewer said with sympathy.

"No," Cole said. "I don't think you DO understand. How would you feel if you were in my shoes? Seein' the world through my eyes, seein' what I saw, experiencin' what I did?" He paused and sniffled as wet mucous began to drip down in the interior of his right nostril. "You ain't got a damn clue, sir. What it's like to relive all that horror on a daily basis, havin' this crap in your nightmares no matter how many times you pray to God to make it all go away. Do you even understand how hard it is to recover from somethin' like this even with a shrink and a cocktail of meds to go with it? It ain't done me much good…if anythin' it makes me THINK I feel better…but I don't…so don't be sayin' 'I understand' because…well, you DON'T."

Cole took a silent sip of his water, and the interviewer nodded, just watching his subject try to compose himself before he could say anything further.

"Good Lord," he said, gulping the refreshing, cold water. "What time is it?"

"It's quarter past 2," the producer said behind the camera.

"Good, let's make a day of this," Cole said boldly, a dramatic shift in from his previous distressed state. "While it's fresh in my mind."

* * *

Damn, I wish I listened to Elias. I wasn't buying that Sarah killed her parents, but now I could believe it. She killed someone RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. How else could we've taken that?

Thomasin's message was now clear. But what she said to Sarah got me thinking. At the time, Scout hadn't been on my mind, but, within the new couple of days, I was thinking of him, missing him…maybe Sarah had been the one to kill him as a 'sacrifice' to whoever Thomasin was bowing to. But…I found him on my porch, which wouldn't have made sense. Unless it was to send me a message, anonymously at the time. But then there were the parents of Barbi and Sarah. Were THEY sacrifices? Is that what Thomasin was referring to?

"C'mon, Barbi," I heard Sarah say, holding up that same meat cleaver she used to chop veggies that day at their dump of a cabin. "When would I _ever_ hurt a hair on your head?"

"How should I BELIEVE YOU?!" I heard Barbi shout. I almost got a headache from her screaming; right next to my ear, too. "You just ripped his guts out!"

"Barbi, please, don't push it any further," Cricket said. He sounded like he was about to shit himself.

I tried to reach for my phone to call the police, but it was then that Cricket's voice made itself known again. He had looked behind us to see three men with guns, but their faces looked to be blown off. I was shaking.

"Oh my…" he whispered to himself.

He grabbed me and we ran down the hallway, only to be met by what looked to be an Asian girl, probably one of the Chens, whose head kept twisting to and fro as she crawled across the floor.

I let out a scream, but…Barbi was clearly more scared than I was. She started to panick. When we ran down another corridor of the house, Mr. Piggy came charging toward us, making us run in yet another direction.

That was when Barbi began screaming so loudly, and I began to cry from fear. Cricket just looked on in silence, shocked to see a bloodied blonde woman and a dark-haired man standing before us, holding a hand out to us. The man's face was so brutally…what's the word? Uh…mutilated…I didn't know who he was…t-then the woman looked to have wounds in her chest and one wedge slice in the side of her neck, like a meat cleaver had cut her to bleed her dry.

"M-M-M-M-Mom…" Barbi sobbed…. "Mom…"

This poor girl stared her dead parents IN THE FACE. We had no choice…we booked it down the cellar. Luckily, my beagle followed, barking up a storm. We ran down the stairs, locked the door behind us…and we kept it dark down there. But it was far from quiet. Jack kept barking. Barbi kept sobbing. I could not keep her quiet for the life of me, but…I empathized with her. I cried, too.

Then…we heard a scared gasp from Cricket, who shined a flashlight on what looked to be a man who looked like George Washington. It was uncanny. White wig, powdered skin, his clothes were…definitely not of this time, not even the time of the colonists who were ganged up outside my door. And…he had a British accent. Cricket just screamed a bit.

"There is no need for fear," the man in the funny costume said. "For 'tis not my intent to harm you."

"Who are you?" Cricket asked.

"I am Edward Philippe Mott," he introduced himself with a dandy-ass bow. "I am here to save you."

"Save us? What…I-" He cut me off.

"There is not much time left," he said, pointing to the wall. "I know of a way out of here."

Cricket took the message, like the paranormal zipdrive he claimed himself to be. He moved something aside on the wall, and…lo and behold…it was door! A DOOR! I didn't even know this was here! I pushed Cricket away, as I had Barbi with me, and I let her go first down the way. I followed, as did Cricket and then the dandy-Washington fella. Within moments, Edward appeared before us with a torch. Whenever he turned to look at us, we could see the shadow of a skull taking over his face. He clearly was dead, and really did live in the Revolutionary times.

I finally asked the man something, having Barbi's hand in mind as she continued to sob: "Where are you taking us?"

"To safety," he said.

"Where do these tunnels lead?" I questioned.

"I built them," the man replied.

"You're not..." Cricket began, "you're not alive."

"No," Edward said sadly, "The Butcher killed me, but I will keep her from killing you. No more, no less."

Barbi finally said something, sounding a bit whiny. After all, she had seen her dead parents right before her eyes: "Is that why you appeared? T-To save us?"

What he said next made me uncomfortable: "No. You're my bane. My ruin."

"We're no threat to you," Cricket said gently. "Y-You can trust us!"

"All that I was is no more. Everything precious turned to dust," Edward said. "I have but one last sliver of grace. My solitude, such as it is. I can hardly suffer three more souls."

We must've walked a mile in the dank and dark. In some places, the walls were moving, infested with insects. It smelled like a grave. I was going to throw up. I'm surprised Barbi took it so well, it smelled horrible. But like the typical girl, she was grossed out by the bugs.

I felt Barbi shivering a little; her hand was a bit chilly: "I-I'm cold."

"Well, better cold than the heat from The Butcher's flames," Edward said.

"Will this take us to the road? So I can get my truck and get us out of here?" I asked.

"There are no roads where I go," he said: I didn't like how he sounded.

"If we're not going to the road, then where in God's name are you taking us?" I asked.

"We can't go aimlessly into the woods," Cricket said worriedly, "we'll die of exposure."

Then we stopped. It was, you know, like time had stopped. No surroundings. Just darkness. He says to us: "This is as far as I dare take you. The living cling to life above all, but the trophy misprized is to die in peace."

" _Do you remember what happened next?" the interviewer asked, jotting down the previous details of Cole's testimony._

Aw… _Cole's voice seemed to drone_. I don't remember much. Except that we all woke up…among strangers…and I had a headache to beat the band.

It turns out…we were kidnapped. All three of us. I knew this because when I opened my eyes, my hands were tied tight behind my back. Barbi was next to me, and Cricket was…off to the side somewhere. I remember…t-the smell was horrible. Just horrible. Like someone didn't shower in days mixed with manure mixed with…God only knew what!

I heard this…whining sound. And crying, too. From a man and a woman: "Help me! Help me! P-Please…"

Then Barbi began to cry. She woke when I did. Could've sworn I got a concussion from a hit to my head. But it also was when I saw this…lady, or someone, hand Barbi what looked to be beef jerky.

"Y'all hungry?" she asked: her Southern drawl, let me tell you…it was MUCH stronger than mine by fault. "I got beef jerky from the storehouse."

"N-No…" I heard Barbi cry. "G-Get it away…I don't want any…"

"How rude o'ya," the woman said, taking the beef jerky back. "I offer food to welcome y'all to my home. It ain't poison, it's delicious."

She took a bite of it, and I felt something hit my chest. She spat it out on me and shouted.

"SHIT! I spent 'ours curin' this! I like my meat sweet! Why does it all done taste like shit?!"

But…it wasn't that…oh god….it's not that piercing, low Southern drawl that scared me. It was what one of the men in the room said next: "it's his fault. He got bad meat."

I looked over, and recognized one of the men as one from the auction, when I first got the house for the $75,000. Slimy, dirty, white-trash son of a….

I don't want to cuss. But you get the point. When he said "his meat"…what exactly did he mean? That was my first thought. So…I sat up. My arms were killing me. Wrists, too…and I look and see blood all over the damn floor. It all came from what looked to be a gurney, and…then I see a blonde woman crying, red eyes, strapped to a chair, gagged with duct tape, one of those hillbillies with a rifle to her head. But…on the gurney-thing… was a black man…

I noticed them, too. They were also from the auction. Why were they here? Were they taken out of spite?

"There ain't a reason to keep 'im 'live," a hillbilly said. It was the one near the crying woman bound and gagged to the chair. "He's spoilt."

"K-Kill me…" the black man in the gurney said. It was then, I looked again and saw he was missing his entire left set of limbs. Leg and arm. Cut clean off with a dirty, bloody mess.

"One more word outta 'im, he gon' get the hammer to 'is teeth!" the woman shouted.

I was scared, shitting my pants…almost literally, now. It sunk in…Barbi was being fed…human meat. From those limbs…off that man. I…I get sick thinking about it sometimes now.

Even when…the woman…s-she brought a sledge hammer down on the man's face. Cleaved it in half. The woman gagged and bound in the chair began to scream. Hell, I would.

I, for one, nearly lost it. But I couldn't bear to puke in front of all these strangers. Not while they had guns in their hands and a sledgehammer.

"You should'a never bought that house," the woman sneered, looking down at me. "Come here with yo' big South'in blood money.Y'outbid Ishmael at the auction."

I lost it. Well, nearly: "Y-You can have it. Move in tomorrow. I'll sign the deed over to you right now. You can have it. I don't care anymore. I want out!"

"We don't wanna live there," the woman replied, leaning down further. Her breath reeked of rotting flesh. "We got places all o'er out here. We wanted to keep it empty for The Butcher. She don't like no company. My kin made a deal with her o'er two-hunn'id years ago. So long as she can consecrate the land with fresh blood ev'ry year, she'll leave us 'lone. Some years when the pickin's are slim, we help provide the sacrifice. In turn, nobody steps foot in the forest and disturbs our crop. That cannabis grows tall in this Carolina soil."

So…it got me. These people made a deal with the colonists so they could keep their Mary Jane crops? Gosh, darn it.

"Why are you telling us this?" Cricket finally asked, saying the first word he had the entire time.

"Why not? You ain't never gonna tell nobody," the hillbilly with the gun near the bound woman said.

"No. We won't. We swear it," Cricket said. "By the word of Spirit, we won't say anythin'. Just let us go, and you can have the house. Don't cause Barbi or that lady _any_ harm."

The woman said something even worse: "I ain't forgot you led the police here and took away our babies." It was when they found Martin's body, and those two retards in my barn.

"You'll get them back!" Barbi exclaimed tearfully. "Please, please just let us go. DON'T HURT US!"

"I'll go back to South Carolina, back to my humble beginnings," I said, "and you won't see us ever again. As a man of his word, I swear it. I won't tell nobody!"

I was almost cut off: "Oh, sweet meat. The Polks always been as good as their word. We got a deal with The Butcher, and she gon' get y'all back."

After that…I was genuinely afraid…w-willing to accept my fate.

" _Were you taken someplace else?" the interviewer asked. The tears in Cole's eyes began to fall, and he sniffled, trying to make it all go away. But he couldn't; he had to continue for the sake of the interview._

W-We were loaded on the truck. Like pigs to slaughter. W-We couldn't do anything…I-I think they must've taken blows to our heads. I had a headache to beat the band and was still dizzy. So…needless to say, I didn't remember much.

Not like…not like I remember praying to God to take my soul and silently repenting for any sins in life I may have had. I…stared Barbi right in the face, laying in the back of the pick-up truck. Her eyes just sucked me right in. I was staring in the face of death…the face of…God only knew what.

"W-We're done," I heard her whisper.

So I just…did my thing: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." I was still crying, feeling…a mix of emotions. I was about to DIE, for heaven's sakes! "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. H-He restoreth my soul…h-he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness...f-for his name's sake…" I started to sob, and Barbi full out started crying. She was truly fearful, as was I. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and…t-thy staff…t-they comfort me…" I was struggling to get this out…have the Big Guy hear it. "T-Thou preparest a table…before me in the presence of mine enemies…" I looked up to see Cricket sitting up against the back of the driver's compartment, with a hillbilly and his rifle next to his head. Poor guy was whimpering. "And…thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

I noticed Barbi moving…I think she was trying to get loose. I joined and realized they did an awful job binding me up. My wrists were loose behind me, but I was still hurting. "Surely…goodness and mercy shall follow me…" I was half-loose by this point, "all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the…Lord forever."

Then, I got up, finally all loose and free from the crappy bindings, and, risking Cricket being shot, I took action. I pulled the rifle shaft away from Cricket, who moved away and I struggled, fighting with this white-trash piece of shit. I pointed it toward the hind window, and the one driving…h-his head, the back of it, faced us…a-and the gun.

"Let it go, boy!" the hillbilly shouted at me.

"G-GET OFF!" I screeched.

And it was this huge struggle. Well…until it ended. The…d-driver…had the short end of the stick. He was shot. Brains blasted…a-all over the inside of the driver's area…t-the passenger seat. And…w-we veered off the road…i-into the woods again…I couldn't find Cricket. I think the force was so much that…he had been thrown off into the road.

Barbi was thrown, but I could still see her. She only had roping on one wrist. But I tried to go over to her to see if she'd been hurt in the tumble. I was stopped though; I was hit with something so hard on the back that I fell forward onto the ground. I was picked back up again. I felt like a bullet went in my back, but…it was worse. I looked to see Barbi being held by another one of the living rednecks with a knife to her throat.

" _You were taken back to the house, right?" the interviewer asked. Cole nodded sadly._

We were. Right before us…was the hellfire we'd be burnt over. I'd be sodomized and spit-roasted or God only knew what. We got closer and closer…I tried to look at Barbi…her lovely face for the last time, because when we stopped walking, it'd be all over.

That…old hillbilly woman went up to Thomasin and knelt before her. I cringed. I spat at the ground. I was so frightened. Barbi was dry-sobbing next to me with the knife held to her throat.

"Thou hast lost a son tonight," I heard her say to the woman. "'Tis a mother's burden to suffer the birth of her babe, but all agony pales when placed in measure with the cold death of a child."

Then…it was silent. For a split few seconds. Then I hear the woman say to the men grabbing us: "back in the truck, boys."

We were both shoved into the arms of two colonists. I could hear the sharpening of something, but whatever it was, it made Barbi scream and cry even more, kicking her feet.

"NOOOO! NOOO!"

I was whimpering, but in shock, speechless. I couldn't even say anything. I just let dry sobs come out. We were bound up even tighter…and together. I took Barbi's hand in the bindings and…she held my hand, leaning down to kiss it. I felt her tears come on my skin.

Then…a nightmarish voice: "Barbi's my sister. I want to take care of her first."

"Yes, craven soul," Thomasin said back; it was Sarah with the meat cleaver who said that last part. Chilled me to the bone. "She goeth first."

I remember screaming: "DON'T TOUCH HER!"

But I watched Sarah literally drag Barbi by her hair on the ground, getting dirt all over her. Barbi's face was redder than her hair, and I…felt so useless. I couldn't do ANYTHING to save her. I felt…oh God…horrible. Just horrible.

"This land belongs to the colony!" Thomasin shouted. "We consecrate our holy right with BLOOD!"

 _Cole looked down and sighed, tears coming back to his face. The interviewer leaned in and looked at Cole, catching his blue eyes out of their trance: "are you alright, Mr. Paterson?"_

I am, I…just couldn't believe what happened next.

One of her own…it was Ambrose. H-He…he pushed Sarah right into the fire. And his own mother.

Like…God had answered my prayers, and saw we were in trouble. I just…watched…speechless. My eyes widened bigger than the fire itself. It was like…Sarah had burst into flames. Thomasin's ghost was next to her. I heard screams…but….it was what Ambrose said that set the scene, changed everything.

"I SHALL NOT STAND BY AND WATCH THOU SHED ANOTHER DROP OF INNOCENT BLOOD ON THIS LAND!" It was a piercing screech. VERY unexpected.

Then…I see him come over to us, but…stopped where Barbi was, cutting her loose of her ties. She was still crying in fear. But…Ambrose freed her. I saw the ghost of Edward came over to free me, and he cut me loose.

"Go," he said to me, "make your grand escape!"

I stood and ran to Barbi, who was crying in Ambrose's arms. His ARMS. Yes, he was holding her close to him. I only heard a bit of what he was saying, but he was crying. He was really guilty: "you are still so youthful, Barbara. Live, and make your life. Thou shalt not leave this earth in the same manner as your kin."

I don't remember much else after that, but…I heard a car come by. No…wasn't a car. It was MY TRUCK. And I saw the passenger window down…to see Cricket was driving my truck. He shouted to us.

"GET IN! NOW!" And we did. We fled like wildfire into my truck. My truck was my baby. I didn't give a damn if he was driving it. I wanted out and Barbi did as well. And we did. We got out.

That's all she wrote.

" _Now wait a moment," the interviewer said. "That can't be all to the story…or…well, is it?"_

It is. But it's a miracle. After all we been through. Weird part is… I-I still can't explain half the crazy things we saw. We were lucky to be alive. Those months were like a terrifying nightmare. When I close my eyes, I can still see...the fire and... Elias screaming with his insides being torn out…Sarah…that insane family…the Witch of the wood…all these things. I'm just grateful that I'll never have to see that godforsaken place again.

I'm not the same as I was. Far from it. I started seeing a shrink about two months after we all left. I was diagnosed with PTSD. I have weekly appointments. Not this week, though. Today I would've had one, if I wasn't doing this interview. I've been prescribed medications. A whole cocktail of them. Zoloft, prazosin before bed…doesn't always help though. I find myself…r-reliving all of these events, every day of my life. Alright? I had to give up anything with manual labor needing stuff like saws or sledgehammers for the job because they're triggering to me now just to LOOK at them.

To this day I still have nightmares of everything. That's why I was prescribed prazosin, but…again, don't always work. We escaped with our lives that night, but I never completely got over it. I'm not sure I ever will.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _So that's the end of the interview part of the story! And no, it's not over! Actually, there's more!_

 _I hope you are all enjoying this! Murphy has created quite a stretch this season._

 _Please leave a_ Review _, and be sure to_ Favorite _and_ Follow _!_

 _Thank you all! ~_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

 _October 4, 2016_

The daytime talk show kept playing. All Barbi could hear was the voices of Candace Cameron-Bure and Raven Symone on _The View_ , along with several other co-hosts. Whilst listening to their eloquent, feminine voices, her hands were soaked in the bathwater of the sink as she bathed one-month old Caroline, who was gurgling and cooing as Barbi poured cups of water on her daughter to clear the suds of Johnson and Johnson's off of her smooth, light skin.

"My kids had an amazing Halloween," Barbi heard Candance say passively, "which brings us to our next topic. Raven, you said you wanted….uh, take the floor?"

"Yeah, I have to say, last year's television special _My Roanoke Nightmare_ was INSANELY good!"

Barbi just darted her eyes at the screen and looked at the crazy-haired former teen actress ramble: "it kept me on the edge of my seat…" Barbi watched Raven put her hands up on the screen, shaking them crazily, "it was, WOW! The reenactments were true to life!"

The redheaded young mother took a sharp sigh and looked down at her baby daughter, still wet in the sink with suds on her body. Barbi tried to ignore it, continuing to rinse off the soap from her daughter. Yet it didn't stop. Others pitched in consecutively, systematically, as though the show were made solely to profit off of she and her husband's pain and trauma.

"I saw it, too," said the deep, calming voice of Whoopi Goldberg. "I actually feel sorry for that poor young man. He said he was seeking help."

"Who could blame him?" Raven asked, "especially after all he's been through."

"I happen to know the producer, the one who interviewed him," said Paula Faris, another host. Barbi just cringed and kept washing her daughter clean in the sink.

"Sidney Aaron-James," Candace said, pointing a finger out expressively, "he was the director, right?"

"Yeah," Whoopi Goldberg said, sipping her Pepsi that was sitting on the desk. "He interviewed Mr. Paterson."

"Well, apparently," Paula said, taking out her smartphone and scrolling down on the touch screen, "the show has been a MAJOR success this past year alone. It's got 23 million overall viewers, 3 million followers on Twitter, almost 5 million likes on Facebook, and it's made multiple covers of _Entertainment Weekly_. The are hundreds of fan sites online and even had a Comic-Con spot in San Fran. The appetite for this show hasn't even reached its peak, and…"

"Wait a min-" Whoopi was cut off.

"Wait a minute, let me talk," Paula interrupted, "Sidney plans on making a SEQUEL of this, it was just leaked on Instagram. _Return to Roanoke: Three Days in Hell_."

That was it. Barbi had enough hearing about these celebrities talking about this. She had a cup full of water in her hands that she had just refilled from the bathwater in the sink, and impulsively splashed the screen on the TV with the soiled liquid. There came a buzzing sound before the TV suddenly burst into flames before her very eyes.

 _BeepBeepBeepBeep…_

There went the fire alarm as a thick cloud of dark grey smoke accompanied the fire from the spark, and in came Rebecca, her teenaged sister in-law.

"What in God's name is goin' on?!" she asked loudly.

"The TV!" Barbi exclaimed, quickly grabbing baby Caroline out of the soiled sink water and into a clean, lukewarm towel, holding her close as the front of her t-shirt got wet. "Help me!"

Rebecca, rolling her soft blue eyes, rushed to grab the fire extinguisher, getting it ready and pulling the lever back until white foam went on the site of the fire to cease it completely from spreading throughout the kitchen. Within moments, Barbi found herself a bit calmer with the absence of the heat and smoke from the fire, and Rebecca wiped her lightly freckled face on her sleeve, putting down the bright red can of white foam. She looked at her sister in-law and shook her head.

"What the heck happened to the TV?" she asked. "You didn't answer me."

"Look, I…I'm sorry," Barbi said apologetically, "just that…I…I…"

"Let me guess," Rebecca answered facetiously, "you heard about that producer makin' a sequel about you 'n' my brother's ordeal?"

Barbi's large, doe-like brown eyes widened, strengthening her hold on the two-month old baby in her hands. It disgusted her; the mere thought of high-ranking celebrities talking about and profiting off their trauma and pain from the ordeal just a year before. Worse yet were the fans who raved about Cole's interview on the TV special and dramatic reenactment that was so disturbingly real that Cole himself could not even watch it without reliving the horror. It was bad enough that the interviewer and producer, Sidney Aaron-James, bought the house for cheap for the reenactments from Cole for a meager $4,000, which was barely a sixteenth of the price he paid at auction.

"Becca," Barbi said, "it's disgustin'. Truly."

"But you gettin' paid off it, right?"

Barbi just looked at her sister in-law and shook her head, changing the subject: "don't you got homework?"

"Nope," Rebecca answered with a chuckle, about to leave the room, "but you're gonna have to explain to my mom why the TV's broken."

"Look," Barbi said, holding her baby closer, "I was upset. I'm so damn tired of hearin' about it all."

"No sense in changin' anythin'," Rebecca replied, holding her arms out to try and get her baby niece out of Barbi's arms. The young mother handed her niece baby Caroline, who began to whine and cry softly. Rebecca kissed the baby's smooth white cheek, holding her closely in the towel.

"Aw, are you okay, lil' one?" the teenager asked her niece, looking over to Barbi, who began to leave the room and to the small makeshift nursery made for Caroline. It was a small room, but nowhere near the size of a linen closet, with just enough room for a white dresser and white crib with a matching diaper changing table. The redhead opened the top drawer of the baby's dresser and pulled out a light green onesie, putting it on the changing table. Rebecca removed the soaked towel from the baby's bath and put on a fresh diaper before putting on the garment.

"She's sleepy," Barbi whispered, noticing her baby's crying had ceased. "Put her in the crib."

Rebecca lowered Caroline into the plush-lined crib, covering the infant with a blanket of light wool and putting her stuffed mini teddy bear next to her. As the baby drifted off to sleep, the two heard the door open. Barbi felt nerve-wracked, and rushed to see who it was. Whenever the door opened, since the occurrences, she felt a tinge of anxiety until she found out it was either Cole or Abigail, Cole and Rebecca's mother. Barbi felt a bit of relief to see Cole and his mother both enter the house.

"Hello, I'm home," he said. Barbi went over to her husband, who leaned down to hug and kiss her softly on the cheek. "Everythin' okay? Where's Caroline?"

"We just put her to sleep," Barbi said solemnly. Cole noticed this, looking down at her as he saw his mother and sister leave the room. He tilted her chin up, only to have his wife shake his hand away by thrashing her head slightly.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked her. "Why you actin' like this?"

"Cole," Barbi replied wearily, "i-it's a long story."

"Well, tell me," he replied, taking a seat on the couch as he removed his suit jacket and leather loafers.

Since the interview, he had taken up a managerial job at a manufacturing company; anything involving cutting tools like sledgehammers or saws were out of the question for him now, by his own free will and the request of his therapist, who had diagnosed him with PTSD after the ordeal in Roanoke the state north of his own. He had made a decent living with his wages, but still received small checks in the mail of a few thousand dollars each from the broadcasting company who produced _My Roanoke Nightmare_ – it was a puny fraction of the millions that the show was actually worth. Sidney Aaron-James, the interviewer, and his producer were the ones making a fortune off their misery, while small reminders of the ordeal came every month as royalties.

"I'll tell you at dinner," Barbi told him, "I promise. Your momma oughta know, too."

* * *

Barbi cooked dinner herself that evening; it consisted of seasoned country-style pork ribs slathered in sweet barbeque sauce, along with sides of homemade baked beans, buttery-garlic green beans along with heated cornbread muffins. Barbi served everyone in order of Cole, Abigail and Rebecca before serving herself, sitting at the table to see that everyone had already begun to dig into her handiwork. First was a satisfied moan from her husband, who smiled at his wife.

"This is so damn good, Barbara." His mouth was full. He used her real name, now.

"I'm glad y'all like it," the redhead said. "I saw it off the cookin' channel and decided to try somethin' new."

"The beans?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah."

"Cookin' shows probably are the reason the TV's broken."

Barbi nearly dropped her fork, looking at Abigail, who had a strange look on her aged face; "huh? What TV?"

"Oh, yeah," Rebecca said, "Barbi broke the TV today."

"It was an accident," Barbi said, defending herself, diverting her dark chocolate eyes to her sister in-law. "I wouldn't do it on purpose."

Cole just looked at everyone and shook his head – "quiet down. What happened?"

Barbi looked down, and tried to muster enough to hide her nervousness under the guise of a small bite of food. Cole just looked at her, returning her absent gaze as he awaited an answer.

"Well?" he asked.

Barbi finally answered after a silence, looking first to Abigail: "Ma'am, I have to tell you what happened that ticked me off enough to pour water at the TV. I was bathin' Caroline, and…"

"So, you put the baby in harm's way?" Abigail asked with shock, having swallowed her food. She sounded agitated, and honestly, no one could blame her.

"It was so sudden," Barbi said rapidly, "but you're missin' the point. I saw a show and they said they were comin' out with a new documentary…" She took a breath, "about…our ordeal."

The room was struck silent, mostly due to Cole's speechlessness. Rebecca continued to eat, as if nothing was a big deal, yet she felt genuine sympathy for her brother and his relatively new wife. She couldn't possibly put herself in their shoes, either one of them, to experience firsthand what went on in the house at Roanoke. Abigail just looked at her son, remembering how distressed he was when he had come back to Barnwell with Barbi, and seeing her in a lot worse of shape, just over a year before. Cole looked over at Barbi, ending the circle of stares, seeing some water droplets in her eyes and seeing her sniffle as she tried to eat her food.

"Cole?" Abigail broke the silence. "D-Did you hear about this?"

His answer was abrupt: "no."

"We could ne'er go back in our condition," Barbi said, "especially his. The doc won't allow it, I guarantee it." She looked over at Cole, who just silently and slowly buttered his corn muffin. "By hell, if they want to interview me instead of you, I'd do it."

"Are you _crazy_?!" Cole shouted.

Abigail just reached across from her and patted her son's forearm: "no yellin' at the table."

"I ain't goin' back there, and neither are you, Barbara," he commanded.

His wife looked frightened, moving the napkin from her lap to the tabletop, shoveling some baked beans onto her fork. Abigail just looked at her daughter in-law, staring long as hard at the fire-haired young woman as she silently obeyed and ate her food, keeping silent. She knew not to provoke Cole, especially in his condition. Yet it was so hard, being married to him, having barely known him for a few months during their first meeting when he moved to the dreaded, haunted farmhouse. She did love him, but he was so difficult with his values and renewed morality since fleeing North Carolina in addition to his mental diagnosis.

The rest of dinner was silent. Barbi hadn't even said a word to Cole for the rest of the night. After checking on the baby one last time at around 10:30 that evening, she walked slowly to the master bedroom she shared with Cole, which neighbored Rebecca's room and had Abigail's own room across from it. She opened the door and looked to see her husband sitting there, shirtless and barefoot in his jeans, on the edge of the king-sized bed downing a few of his medications followed by a glass of water. When he set the glass on his nightstand, he looked to the doorway but ended up ignoring her presence.

She broke the silence: "I'm sorry…i-it was just a thought, and…I wasn't thinkin' straight."

Cole just looked at the door: "close the door."

"D-Don't ignore me," she replied emotionally, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm speakin' to you!"

"I'm not ignorin' you," Cole said, "I only asked a favor."

 _SLAM!_

She slammed the door shut and went over to him: "do you even realize how _upset_ I was today seein' that on TV? Do you even understand how horrible it is for others to profit of our sufferin', that we STILL live day to day with? I only suggested that to set the record straight, I lived there longer."

"Yeah," Cole said, "and probably saw way more than what you tell me you did."

"That's a lie," she told him tearfully. "God, I'm so sick of you accusin' me of _lyin_ ' to you!"

Cole got up from the bed, listening to her cry and carry on as he looked down at her, inching closer to her, slowly, as her crying turned to sobs.

"You didn't have your sister try killin' you twice! You didn't live poor with pretty much nothin'. You weren't there to see your parents murdered…y-you don't know…"

" _Shhh_ …"

Cole felt a knife in his heart, feeling sorry for his wife as she fell into his arms like a helpless child. She felt his strong hands pat her back softly, feeling her smooth skin beneath the fabric covering it. Her tears saked his bare chest, and her hair still smelled sweet and flowery. Letting her go, he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, looking down into her great dark eyes as he spoke.

"Let's get to bed," he said to her. "Sleep it off."

* * *

" _Fola a fuil, saol a bas…olc na dorchdais…cuirimid iobairt…"_

 _She heard the whispers of an ancient, foreign tongue as she found herself running through the halls of the colonial-era house. Looking down, she saw herself dressed in a taupe bodice that was tight-fitting, like a corset, complete with an ornamental skirt over a shift. Her fiery hair was tousled and felt like it hadn't been washed in a week's time. Looking around, she'd been here before – it was her childhood home._

" _Am an ri'ain gach uile choirceoige…"_

 _The whispering continued, but she followed the sound. It brought her to the living room, where she had remembered sitting with her then future-husband and the professor who was brutally eviscerated before their eyes by the ghosts of the house. She stopped at the doorway to see a familiar bundle of red tresses halfway hanging off the head of a young woman._

" _Hello?" she asked, "w-who's there?"_

 _The face, upon turning around, was unrecognizable. She found herself gasping, seeing piercing hazel eyes that were intense enough to rip someone to shreds upon first contact. Yet, the once beautifully unmarred, pale skin on the woman was now black with severe burns; so severe, in fact, that her upper and lower arm bones were exposed with the muscle and tissues completely incinerated away. Half of her clothes were missing as well, just tatters and rags of what once was a black dress that went to the knees. Since a good majority of the upper half of her body was badly burnt, only half of her fiery waves remained, and hung over her face to frame the grisly reminder of her demise. Death never looked so frightening._

" _You came back."_

 _The girl, in her colonial-style clothing, moved forward: "Sarah?"_

" _Don't mind the scars," the burnt woman said. "I'm just fine. Ambrose threw me in. Savin'_ your _dumb ass."_

 _She had a strange urge to go over to the severely-burnt, reanimated corpse and embrace her once more, but Sarah had never been that type in life; the affectionate, loving type. Maybe in a more twisted sense in her verbal and mental abuse toward her sister, fostering learned helplessness further as they grew up under their uncle's roof together. Sarah, charred and hideous with the look of death, just stared her right in the face, speaking more._

" _Why did you come back?"_

" _Tell_ me _, Sarah," Barbi argued softly, "why?"_

" _Why_ what _?"_

" _Why did you kill Mom and Dad?" she asked her burnt sister. "But….w-why did you try killin' ME?"_

 _Sarah took a step forward, one of her crackling leather shoes making a strange noise on the floor: "I've hated you since before you were born." Then, the charred young woman and her crackling leather shoes made those same noises as she circled around her younger sister in colonial clothing; "I was supposed to be their only kid. I could've, well, just_ maybe _, if you were a boy, I wouldn't think of killin' you when you were 9, before…I was sent off and away by those two CUNTS!" Her shriek made Barbi's eyes shut as the sound resonated sharply in her ears; "they deserved it. I was their pride and joy, and they just threw me away."_

 _Barbi felt uneasy as Sarah's charred, reanimated corpse as she was circled around and about, repeatedly with the sound of crackling leather against the wooden, creaky floor. The fear was gripping, making her near nauseous, but made her eyes hurt, as if she were holding in years worth of tears._

" _S-Sarah," she said with a dry sob, "y-you hated me? But…I never did anythin' to you…n-not on purpose…"_

" _It was always 'Barbi', 'Barbi, 'Barbi' after you were ripped out," Sarah said mockingly. "I was pushed to the side. Disgustin'. Thinkin' I'd be treated better because I was the oldest."_

" _It doesn't always work like that," the younger sister replied sadly, "I…I tried to be a good sister to you."_

" _You have the brain of a bastard rat," Sarah replied. "Caroline will be just like you in the worst way. Watch."_

 _That alone sent chills down her spine; how in the world did Sarah know Barbi had a baby since fleeing North Carolina? Did she know about her marriage to Cole, too?_

" _How did-"_

" _Don't ask," Sarah replied, staring her living sister straight in the eyes._

 _Then, there was a shouting: "TRESPASSER!"_

 _It seemed like Sarah moved aside to let Thomasin, whose stringy gray hair fell over a sweaty face, charge at her younger sister, who screamed as she struggled to avoid the cleaver wielded by the Butcher._

" _This land belongeth to my people! Thou art not welcome!" the colonist shouted, "punishment will be thy death!"_

" _AHH! STOP!" Barbi screeched, being pushed up against the wall by the unsurprising strength of the woman. She heard a cackling in the background, but most of it was drained out by Thomasin trying to kill her._

" _THOU DARE COME BACK HERE?" the colonist shouted, "HAST THOU LEARNT NOTHING?"_

* * *

"Barbara? Barbara! What's wrong?"

Cole's wife was screaming in her sleep, the dream just one of many, from their traumatizing ordeal in the house and on the land of the original Roanoke colony. There were tears flooding down her cheeks, which were redder than her hair at the peak of the screaming.

"Barbara…"

"NO! PLEASE! AHHH!"

 _Slap!_

Cole was taken aback from the motion of his hand against her face, slapping her out of her hysterical sleep and to full consciousness. Barbi's dark brown, chocolate-colored eyes widened, as if she were hypnotized, but they moved within seconds to the face of her husband, who looked down in horror as she began to sob and cry heavily.

"Oh my God, I am SO sorry," Cole said with sincere concern, holding her close to him, "I didn't mean to hurt you…I…I…"

Barbi just continued to sob, scratching her husband's chest roughly as her whines and cries were quieted by his lulling. Her sweet-smelling red hair, in a bedhead, was brushing against his chin, enough for him to get a calming whiff of her scent.

"Barbara…d-did you have a nightmare?" he asked her more calmly.

"W-We will die if we go back," his wife replied between broken sobs.

"What?" he asked.

"S-Sarah…she was so…b-burnt up…" Barbi sobbed, "and…T-Thomasin t-t-tried to k-kill me…i-if we go back, we will _die_ , Cole. _We will die_!"

Cole shook his head: "No, no, we are _not_ goin' back there! Y'hear me?"

"We can't!" Barbi exclaimed, "you were right, this dream…"

Cole got out of the bed they shared, and reached into his nightstand drawer, pulling it out to see an array of items within – a Glock 27 handgun, some grooming essentials, an old folding razor, and a few prescription pill bottles. He looked at the labels until he found his prazosin, pouring out a pill and handing it to his wife along with the glass of water by his bedside.

"Here, take this," he said.

"N-No, those are your meds, I can't take 'em if they're not prescribed," Barbi resisted.

"Take them," he insisted.

She took the pill and the glass of water: "what about you?"

"I can go a night with a nightmare or two," he told her. "I don't change much, anyways. It's just a pill."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _So it's been a while since my last update! Sorry, folks!_

 _I hope you are all enjoying the story, and this first chapter entirely in third-person is going to set the tone for the rest of the story. Just wait and see!_

 _I may not be entirely finished with the story until December or so. Just a warning to you all._

 _Please leave_ Reviews _,_ Favorite _and be sure to_ Follow _! Thank you all ~_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

That following Sunday, Cole, his wife, their newborn baby, Rebecca, and Abigail were sitting in their normal pew in their fundamentalist church. It was full of people, and the pastor was giving his sermon to the congregation. Cole had seen him upon returning to Barnwell with Barbi, but before that, he had officiated Charles' funeral. With the hour-long service in session, Barbi needed to put a pacifier in baby Caroline's mouth to keep her quiet as they all listened to the pastor.

After refreshments were served in the backroom of the church house, Cole took everyone back home only to find a luxurious car parked in their driveway. Cole just peered through his windshield, seeing an all-too-familiar man with a strong jawline, thick brown brows, and intense blue eyes come out of the car with what looked to be a producer with him.

"Oh good heaven," Abigail said. "Who's that?"

"Oh not again," Cole muttered, driving in front of the advanced car model and rolling down the window to see what they were doing: "HEY!"

The face of Sidney-Aaron James looked in Cole's direction, and as the man watched the famed producer fiddle with the collar on his thousand-dollar suit jacket, walking toward Cole's vehicle with a smug look on his face.

"Hey, haven't seen _you_ in a long time, superstar!" Sidney smirked, "you doing okay?"

"I _would_ be, if you guys got off my property!" Cole exclaimed. "God, can't a man and his family go to church in peace?"

"Ah, church folk," Sidney said, "gotta love them."

"Get out of my driveway, please," Cole said forcefully in a polite command, getting his foot on the brake and putting the vehicle in gear.

The luxury car moved out and gave Cole just enough room to pull into the driveway. He got out of the vehicle and opened the passenger door to let out, in order, Barbi and baby Caroline, Abigail and his younger sister Rebecca. Ensuring the vehicle was locked, Sidney approached Barbi, who was holding the baby in a white cotton blanket, and smiled at her facetiously.

"Ah, you got a little one now," he said.

"Yeah," Barbi replied, "only a month old."

"Have we met…is it, _Barbi_?" Sidney asked with a smirk. "Don't ask me how I know-"

"Her name is Barbara," Cole corrected sternly, "but _to you_ , _you_ 're gonna call her Mrs. Paterson, you hear me?"

Sidney just looked at the man he had interviewed a year before. Why was he being so cross with him? After all, it wasn't like he went through hell and back with his now-wife. Yes, of course he did, why else would he be acting this way?

"Look, uh…M-Mr. Paterson," Sidney said, correcting himself to try and appeal to Cole's demand for respect toward himself and his wife, above all. "Won't you just invite me in and we can talk this over? I think you'll like what I have to say."

"I know _exactly_ why you're here," Cole replied, "you play me for a fool."

"No, no," Sidney disagreed, "I'm telling you the truth. I really think you want to hear what I have to say to you and… _Mrs._ Paterson."

Barbi went up to her husband's side, looking like the archetypical obedient housewife, and looked up at him: "Cole, please. It ain't fair to just shoo someone off our property. I-I'll make some coffee." She then looked to Rebecca, who held out her arms to collect baby Caroline. "Take the baby, please."

* * *

Cole and Barbi sat across from Sidney, who sat back lazily in his seat at the dining table, looking at the both of them. Cole looked anguished, his chin resting on his fist as his blue eyes looked back at him, light stubble covering his face that matched his dark blond hair. His hands were slightly calloused and rather large, and he was still wearing his Sunday best. Barbi, on the other hand, was more beautiful than Cole described her to be in his interview a year before. Her hair was a bit tousled in the front, the fiery color evident in the loose tresses that were once bangs held back in a silvery clip. She was wearing a pink dress to church with lace accents, along with gold hoops given to her by Cole on her birthday months before. Three cups of coffee were in front of them, and Sidney barely took a sip of his.

"So, what do you have for me?" Cole asked assertively.

It was that moment that Sidney pulled out a yellow manila folder and laid it out on the table for Cole to open and read. Barbi peered over her husband's shoulder as he read it, every word. It was a contract, and in big letters on the top read: _Return to Roanoke: Three Days in Hell_. Cole just slowly turned his eyes up to meet Sidney's, who cocked his eyebrows up to express hope that they would each sign along the dotted lines on the bottom of the document to agree to the conditions…to be in the show.

"What do you think?" Sidney asked.

"I-Is this a joke?" Cole asked him. "Are you _serious_ right now?"

"Yes, I'm serious. I think you'd make an amazing addition to the new show," Sidney answered with a smile. "M-Mrs. Paterson, they get to see you for the first time and not just a reenactment, and you, Cole, you get be seen again by the millions who devoured the original show! Your interview was a TV sensation and now, people are-"

Barbi was disgusted: "you've made millions off our misery since. How dare you?"

"Look, I know I came forward to share my story," Cole said, "but for heaven's sake, I seen enough. I been through enough. The _both_ of us have! How could you just sit there and act like everythin's okay?"

In that very moment, Cole closed the yellow manila folder and tossed it back at Sidney, the contents landing flat on the table without disarray. Sidney took the contract for the new show and opened the folder, looking down at the text as he incorporated a quote into his speech in order to convince them.

"The payout for this is much more generous than the interview you gave, Cole," Sidney said.

"W-What?"

Sidney didn't hesitate to hand over the contract once again, only this time, laying the folder open and flat on the table, taking the point of a pen to the part of the contract he was referring to. Cole and Barbi leaned down to look at it, only to be appalled and disgusted even more by his nonchalance and his evident greed for attention and wealth off their psychological misery.

"The payout is $175,000 per night," Sidney said. "That is just enough to get you out of this hick town, this house, and somewhere else. Think, Malibu or Beverly Hills, even Hollywood if you're ambitious."

That did it. How dare he come into their home and insult them the way he did? Cole took the contract off the table, gathering every piece so he could easily tear them in half. He took it a step further and tore the halves into their own halves, tossing the paper fragments on the table and slamming his palms on the table's surface. His blue eyes grew cold and narrowed at Sidney, his provocation creating tunnel vision and startling the producer.

" _Get out of my house_!" he hissed. "How DARE you come in here?! Insultin' my home, my family, disrespectin' me and my wife, and expectin' us to relive our trauma all over again just 'cause you want an extra million dollars! You are PATHETIC!"

"Now wait just a minute," Sidney said forcefully, "you just tore up a $500,000 contract! You're making a big mistake. Can't you just set all the memories aside and do _this_? For _us_? This is actually fake and simulated, nothing is real this time. I swear to you!"

Cole was never the violent type. It simply was not his style or in his normal mannerisms to hurt people when angry, but given the chance, he surely would have slugged Sidney right then and there without a concern. What he did instead, however, pushed his own boundaries. He grabbed Sidney, from across the table, by the collar of his thousand-dollar suit blazer and dragged him out of the dining area. Barbi sprung up from her seat and watched her husband hold a struggling Sidney, now in both hands, directing him to the front door. Abigail and Rebecca, holding baby Caroline, came out of their places in the house to see what the commotion was all about, only to see Cole literally toss Sidney off the porch so he landed on the dirt walkway in front of the house.

"I'd _never_ wish death on another man," Cole said, catching the producer's full attention as he looked up at him, "but if you're _that_ stupid, to just _waltz_ in that house again, then you by all means _DESERVE_ it!"

"You're…g-going to regret this!" Sidney exclaimed, struggling to speak and get back to his feet due to the pain in his back from the fall down the short flight of stairs on Cole's porch. "Ow…"

"I have no regrets, but _you're_ gonna have regrets goin' in that house!" the man said coldly.

"I could sue you," Sidney said with anguish, feeling his lower back as he hunched over the minute he got to his feet, "if I have a slipped disc in my back."

"I wanna see you try," Cole retorted. "God ain't gonna see to it that you win, you greedy piece of garbage." He paused, turning to re-enter his house; "DON'T COME BACK TO MY HOME AGAIN!"

 _SLAM!_

Cole closed the front door so hard behind him that the windows in the top framework nearly broke. Barbi came closer to him, as did Abigail, but he raised his hands to make them stop in their tracks. Their responses showed him obedience, respect for his masculine authority.

"Cole, what's wrong, hunny-bun?" Abigail asked her son.

"I need a cigarette," he said, walking past them. "I'll be on the back porch."

* * *

Dr. Christian Landau had been seeing Cole as a patient for close to a year by this point. Later that week, after the incident with Sidney visiting his house with a contract for the reboot series related to his interview, he had his weekly appointment with the therapist. When he sat down in one of the plush, upholstered, mustard-colored lounge chairs, Dr. Landau pressed 'Record' on the iPad he had in the room with him – recording was a part of their patient/caregiver contract, just so the therapist could playback anything that may have been odd during the session and assess it as it was, or if something was hidden in Cole's words.

"How did your week go, Cole?" the doctor questioned.

"Eh, it was rough." Cole sighed and looked at his therapist. "I ain't gonna lie."

"Well, start from the beginning. What exactly set the tone for the week?"

Cole looked down, leaning forward and clasping his hands. He nodded and gathered his thoughts before speaking, beginning the session with his testimony about Sidney.

"Okay, so…did you hear about them makin' a reboot TV special about my interview? My ordeal in that house?" he asked, establishing the tone.

"I…have not," Dr. Landau answered. "Can you tell me more about that?"

"Yeah. Well, damn son o'gun had the balls to come to my house after my wife, daughter, sister and mother came from church services on Sunday, with a contract…invitin' us to sign it and appear in it…at that HOUSE," Cole explained. "Can y'imagine?"

"Wait, so he wanted you to star in this new, uh, _reboot_?"

"Yup."

"Oh wow," Dr. Landau muttered, "even though he knows full well that you have had a hard time and then some. How did you handle the situation, Cole?"

"I was obviously mad, doc," the patient replied, leaning back in the chair. "I tore up that contract and send him outta my house. I…I let my anger get a hold of me, and I…I threw him down the front steps. He threatened to sue me, but…I ain't havin' that."

"He…threatened to sue you?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah," Cole said. "He ain't gonna."

"Why do you say he won't?" Dr. Landau asked. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because chances are," Cole answered, "he'll just find the person who played me in the documentary. He's likely to say yeah to it all."

Dr. Landau nodded, listening to his patient. In the first year of treatment, Cole had shown so much improvement and had revealed so many of his innermost thoughts, emotions, memories; pretty much anything he could remember from the house at Roanoke and even before that. The moment he diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder was the moment he prescribed medications. Then came the prazosin for the nightmares when they began to haunt his sleep every night. Cole had a nightmare once a week at the very least, even still – the pills did not do much for him.

"I see," Dr. Landau said. "Now, Cole, can you tell me about the medications? I think it's important to discuss, because it's been a year and you seem to be, well, not benefitting from them enough. I remember upping your nightly dose two months ago. Have you had any nightmares this week?"

Cole took in a breath: "Well…I did…but it was because I skipped out on a dose. I gave it to my wife. She had a bad dream. I…wanted to help her…but…I remember, yes I did have a bad dream…"

* * *

 _He found himself locked in the bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom upstairs in the house. Barbi had looked sullen and depressed, the life zapped from her enticing, almond-shaped brown eyes. She had been holding a knife, but for whatever reason, it made him uneasy. She was sitting with her back to the sink counter across from the curtained bathtub._

" _There is no escape," he heard her say._

" _W-What do mean? We got outta here before!" he exclaimed, going over to his wife and looking into her dead eyes. "We can leave this place again! We are gonna make it out alive. I love you, Barbara, please!"_

" _There is nothin'," she repeated. "We are back to where we started."_

" _No," Cole said forcefully, "don't say that, dammit!"_

 _What she said next frightened him, and even made him feel bad: "Marryin' you set me free. I've only liked you. Love was never somethin' I could feel."_

 _He felt tears begin to form in his eyes – all he did for her was for nothing. How could she sit there and say such horrible things to him after all he had done to make her happy and satisfy her as her husband?_

" _Y-You don't mean that…" he sobbed. "P-Put that knife down…gimme it!"_

" _There's nothin' left for me."_

 _Just like that, Barbi took the blade of the kitchen knife to her throat and dug the blade into her flesh, slicing clean across in one swipe. Her jugular and carotid were fully severed, and her windpipe was cut in such a way that it stuck out as blood splattered out everywhere at a jet-fire speed. Cole was covered in her sanguine fluid, and it was that moment, after a few chokes and final attempts to breathe from his wife that he went over to her and sobbed over her body._

" _NO! NO!" he sobbed. "No, no…please…no…"_

 _Then, he found himself letting her go, covered in her blood. His shirt was soaked in it. Nevertheless, he stood up. He turned around to see the image of an unrecognizable young woman. Half of her clothes were missing, but what was left of a black dress was in tatters with singed edges. Half of her hair was missing, her scalp melted over and badly charred from a fire injury. The once beautifully, but eerily unmarred, pale skin on the woman was now black with severe burns; so severe, in fact, that her upper and lower arm bones were exposed with the muscle and tissues completely incinerated away. Piercing hazel eyes stared at him with hatred and disgust, reminding him of the fire she was pushed into that caused her demise._

" _You're back," she told him._

 _It took a minute to recognize her voice, but it sunk in: "Sarah?"_

 _The charred woman looked down at the fresh corpse of Barbi, her throat cleanly slit with blood still dripping all over the place. Her eyes looked intensely angry and vengeful._

" _What in the hell did you do to my sister?" she hissed._

 _Cole gulped really hard, still sobbing heavily from witnessing her suicide: "s-she killed herself…I…I tried to stop her…I…I couldn't…s-she's dead…I saw everythin'…I saw it all…"_

 _Sarah did not look convinced. One of her soot-covered phalanges pointed to his right hand: "hard to believe, considerin' you got a knife."_

 _Cole looked down and saw he was holding a blood-covered knife in his right hand. He dropped it and let out a startled scream. He just stared at Sarah and shook his head: "NO! I'd never! I loved her!"_

" _She was too happy-go-lucky to off herself like that, you dumb bastard!" Sarah screeched._

 _Cole had nothing else to do except run – she was even scarier in death than she was alive as his distant neighbor. Her presence alone made him shiver. He ran out the door, only to see what looked to be Barbi coming back to her feet, throat still wide open from the self-inflicted wound. She looked at him with empty, dark, soul-piercing eyes as she stood next to her charred sister._

" _Please! Y-You need to stay with me!" Cole said, "I didn't kill you, Barbi! Tell her!"_

" _She can't talk," Sarah said, both sisters looking at him, "fuck you!"_

SLAM!

 _The door was shut, and as Cole pounded against it to get them to open it up, he felt a blade dig into his back, hearing the flesh as it drew itself out._

" _AHHH!"_

 _He collapsed to the floor to find himself looking up at the tall figure of a man with a pig's head. He heard him squeak a bit before proceeding to hack him repeatedly with the short machete he had in his hand. Cole's final moments were full of the sound of metal hitting flesh, repeatedly, agonizing pain until he drew his last breath._

* * *

"Oh, dear," Dr. Landau replied as he listened to the description of Cole's nightmare from that previous week. "Now, this was when you gave your wife your pill for that night?"

"No, I…I took one that night before bed," Cole said. "She woke me up screamin' and cryin', I gave her my pill for the followin' night…so it was the next night I had no pill for the night. I took everythin' else though, that day."

"Ah, okay. Did it work for her?" he asked the patient. "You aren't supposed to give someone else your medications."

"I don't care," Cole said defiantly, "if I see my wife sufferin', I'm gonna end it right there."

"Did it work? Did she have any more nightmares that night?"

"No." Cole sighed morosely, catching the therapist's attention fairly quickly. His facial expression denoted uncertainty, as though there were words unsaid, unshared, as they were meant to be during the session.

"Is there something you want to share with me?" he asked finally.

"What else is there?" Cole asked. "All I do is repeat myself."

"Which is, by all means, okay here," Dr. Landau reminded him. "I'm your therapist, I'm here to talk with. About anything."

Cole took a minute to think, reflecting on his dream before saying anything: "say, doc, h-have you ever questioned someone's loyalty to you?"

This question was not unusual, but in his particular case, it was unnerving. The fact that he would ask that, made Dr. Landau think that Cole was exhibiting some paranoia regarding people in his life. Who could he have been talking about? He asked the patient just that.

"Excuse me, Cole, I don't think I understand," he began, "I mean, I DO, but…who are you referring to when you ask me this question?"

"After that dream," Cole explained, twitching his right leg, "I started to cry when I woke up, I reached and held my wife close to me, told her I loved her…but still, next day I had to know for sure. So I asked her, 'do you love me, Barbara? Really?'"

"What did she say, Cole?"

"Nothin'," Cole said, "just kept at her laundry work. Said absolutely nothin' to me."

"But you said she tells you she loves you."

"It seemed to stop after…this _crap_ with the TV program," Cole said, remembering. "I think she resents me."

"Why's that?"

"Because I came forward with my story and let these people profit off our misery," Cole said. "It's…all my fault."

Dr. Landau was quick to disagree: "No, it isn't. We've been over this, remember?"

"But I can't get it through my head!" the patient exclaimed, leaning forward and holding his dark blonde hair between his fingers, sighing. "I feel like it's my fault, and it's killin' me, doc!"

"I understand," Dr. Landau said, "you've been through a lot, so it's only understandable that-"

"LOOK," Cole said, nearly shouting, "until you've been in my shoes, you'll never understand what I have to live with everyday! All you doctors think you know things, but you barely know anythin' unless you, yourself, have been there. How would you feel if you were in my shoes? Seein' the world through my eyes, seein' what I saw, experiencin' what I did?"

"Cole, please…try to remain calm," Dr. Landau said, trying to get the patient to settle without becoming frantic, as he sometimes did during appointment sessions.

He kept going: "You ain't got a damn clue what it's like to relive all that horror on a daily basis, havin' this crap in your nightmares no matter how many times you pray to God to make it all go away. Do you even understand how hard it is to recover from somethin' like this even with you and your cocktail of meds to go with it?"

There was a long moment of silence, and it made Dr. Landau take a peeking glance down at the iPad, with the Voice Recorder still on, and he noticed that the session had recorded 55 minutes in, taking in all of his testimony from the week that he could possibly remember. For Cole, remembering things wasn't so easy anymore – sometimes even the most vivid nightmares could go missing from his memory. His repression of memories was rather quick, but it was his own way of securing his sanity and what seemed to be left of it. Ironically, though, everything that happened stuck in his long-term memory like fresh gum.

He left Dr. Landau's office that day feeling anxious and tense, but everything changed the minute he took a cigarette out of his case and lit it, taking the first drag and letting out a small cough. He went to his vehicle and continued to smoke, getting it in reverse and pulling out. As he drove down the road, he passed by the church his family frequented, but before he could make a complete pass, he found himself turning the wheel to park in the church's parking lot. He took a moment to himself, finishing his cigarette and dropping it on the black asphalt as he stepped out, closing the door behind him and ensuring it was locked.

Entering the church, he removed his cap and hung his head low, looking down at his feet as they made their way down the aisle of impeccable red carpet, which was a splash of color in a mostly plain church. He looked before him and saw no one in the pews, not even in his family's usual spot, but he took a seat at one and pulled out one of the leather-upholstered knee fixtures for prayer, kneeling down and clasping his hands, counting down as he closed his eyes.

 _Ten._

 _Nine._

 _Eight._

 _Seven…please God, make it all go away._

 _Six._

 _Five…_

Cole took in a deep breath and let a tear fall. _Four…_

 _Three._

 _Two._

Then he opened his eyes. _One_.

"Ah, hello Cole," a voice said, "how's it goin' today? You holdin' up good?"

Cole did not answer verbally; his response consisted of a nod. The man speaking was the pastor of the congregation, who also happened to be a longtime friend of Charles Loring, his late third-cousin.

"I ain't seen you 'lone in this church since your pops passed," the pastor told him in a rather kindly monotone, taking a seat next to the kneeling church-goer. "It was a hard time for your family, I know that. I…I remember when you was just a youngin'. Now you a grown man, a man o'God."

Cole took in a heavy sigh: "I try to be a good Christian."

"You succeed," the pastor smiled. "So…what's got you sulkin', son? You can always talk to me."

 _Everything_ , Cole thought, _everything. It's nothing you don't already know_.

"Ain't nothin' new," Cole said, "it's haunted me since leavin' North Carolina."

"I remember when you first came to me, to talk," the pastor said, clasping his hands and leaning forward to lower his voice. "When you returned…now you see a psychologist. I…didn't advise you to, but…has it worked?"

Cole's voice cracked: "Barely. Dr. Landau has years in the biz, but I still have nightmares, and flashbacks, and that cocktail of pills don't help much."

The pastor reached for the Bible before him nestled in the wooden block pouch and opened it, flipping through the crisp white, thin pages, licking the fingertip that turned them to flip with ease. Cole just looked at him and sighed in a deep breath, awaiting what he was going to tell him.

"Cole, do you remember this past Sunday when ol' Toby Darling came to our church and repented for gratifications of the flesh?" the pastor asked.

"Uh…what?" Cole asked.

"Let me refresh you," the pastor said, "he was a very successful business man, went to college, played football, remember he told us. And...it all went to garbage. He had been too far deep into debauchery to deal with his business no more. So he closed. And he moved back here. He reclaimed his Christianity. Church was part of his upbringin', but he was Lutheran then. Now, he's evangelical like you and I."

Cole was confused, pointing his index finger to himself: "so, what does he have to do with me?"

Having his finger serve as a bookmark, the pastor closed the leather-bound Bible and held it toward Cole: "you must repent for any sins you done. God wouldn't want his child to suffer for no reason."

Cole's blue eyes widened and he shook his head, breaking down before the church elder: "I…I never sinned! Not willin'ly! I don't know what I did! Let alone to deserve this daily mental torment! D-Did God not want me up in North Carolina, and I evaded his plan for me?!"

"It ain't that simp-"

"TELL ME!" Cole begged, grabbing the pastor's shoulders. "Why's God punishin' me if you say I sinned?! What do you see as my greatest sin? Why am I bein' punished?!"

The pastor looked down into the Bible, opening it up to pages with proverb on top of proverb: "please tell you you ain't forgotten the Corinthians?"

" _What_?!" Cole exclaimed.

The pastor adjusted his glasses and looked down at the tiny black text on the white pages, nodding when he found it: "ah, here it is. Corinthians 6:18, here, it states…'flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin one commits is outside his body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body."'

Cole was now extremely confused – he had never once had relations with anyone aside from his wife. He was a faithful man and Christian, and before the incidents at Roanoke, he had never lain with a woman, not even out of curiosity. What was this pastor getting at with him?

"I…I don't get it," Cole said. "I never was unfaithful to Barbara. B-Before everythin' I was _pure_! How could you say-"

"You laid with the Devil in the form of a woman, Cole," the pastor said.

That was when the Witch Scáthach coerced him into sexual acts while he was asleep; that morning where Barbi found him laying on the ground, outside of the house, with his member sticking out for the world to see. The anger was real now, but Cole tried to control himself regardless – his family was close with this pastor. The last thing he needed was the be the next black sheep of the Loring family.

"I…I didn't want it! I SWEAR!" Cole shouted. "Please believe me! I've told you this! I've tried to tell you I'm tryin' to get over it! Y-You said wasn't a sin!"

"But it's becomin' quite clear, son, that it _is_ your sin," the pastor said affirmatively. "You's gotta repent."

"No," Cole protested, standing up and walking out of the pew swiftly and staring down at him. "I can't _believe_ you! You think it's _my_ fault I got violated by that…that… _demon_?!"

"Repent, and you will once again be in the grace of God, son," the pastor said. "Peter said it! Remember. He said to everyone to repent their sins and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ, the son of the Lord, our God. Put your burdens in the arms of the Lord, and your nightmares will be no more."

Cole began to walk toward the entrance of the church, only to turn back and look at the aging pastor to say: "I WILL NOT repent for somethin' I did not do! As a man of God, you oughta be ASHAMED of yourself, sayin' what you just did."

All those years of Christian upbringing were suddenly down the toilet – was he to be the next David Loring? Or would he find his solace elsewhere?

Little did he know, solace was unreachable.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

There was eerie feel to his house the moment Cole walked in from the emotionally-scarring church visit and seeing Dr. Landau for his weekly appointment. It was like no one was there; not Abigail, nor Rebecca, as she was at school, and even Barbi seemed to be absent. He took off his cap and set it down on the coffee table in the foyer, attempting to walk through the room and into the main hallway, where he saw Barbi standing there.

He gasped; there was something so strange about the look on her face. It was one he had not seen before. Barbi's dark chocolate, almond-shaped eyes looked at him with pure happiness, and her light, peachy skin glowed radiantly. Her fiery locks were partially pulled back in her silver barrette, and any bangs she once had were now wisps that fell on her forehead. She had been wearing something a little different than what she had worn when he left the house; she had been wearing a light blue dress, but was now wearing what looked to be her dark gray nightgown that buttoned on the top. It was not like her to wear pajamas during the daytime. Cole just looked at her, walking toward her, but before he could put his arms around her, he stopped himself – something in her eyes told him not to take a step forward.

"B-Barbi?" he asked. "You alright?"

She nodded serenely and replied: "I'll be as good as I'll ever be."

"Uh…y-you sure?" Cole was extremely uncomfortable.

All she did was nod, not a single hint of expression on her lovely face.

"Hm…uh…" He was at a loss for words. "W-Where's Caroline?"

Barbi pointed down the hall: "oh, she's in her nursery, right where I left her." The tone in her voice was unsettling, catatonic with elusive thought and state of mind.

 _Wha….whaaa…..whaa!_

The baby began to cry, loud as a fire engine. Cole was immediately startled, but was too distracted by the abnormal vibe in his house, and the strange behavior when communicating with his wife. She didn't even ask him how his appointment went, or why he was gone for so long for that matter. Not a single concern from her. Not one.

"You may wanna go check on her," Barbi said with a chuckle. "She may need a change."

Nodding, Cole moved past her and down the hall, following the sound of his crying baby daughter. He opened the door to the small nursery, and heard guttural whines and shrieks coming from Caroline. He neared the crib and picked her up, holding her close to him and cooing to her, patting her back to soothe her.

"Aw, Daddy got you," he said softly. " _Shh_ … _tsk, tsk, tsk_ …"

Then a smell hit his nose. It seemed a bit strong if Caroline's diaper needed to be changed, but to make sure it was her, he lifted the whining infant up and sniffed the rear-end part of her yellow onesie. Turns out, there was no odor coming from her diaper, not even the smell of pee. So he continued to talk to the crying baby to calm her down.

"Why you sad, lil' one?" he cooed. "Aw, it's okay, Daddy got you…"

As he kissed her forehead, the same stench from before hit his nose. It was stronger this time. It was definitely not the baby, so he placed her back in the crib and tucked her in with the blanket and gave her the miniature teddy bear laying by her tiny feet. Leaving the nursery, he was literally punched in the face with a familiar, foul stench that was enough to trigger an episode. Cole, trying to take a deep breath to calm himself down, found it impossible to do so because the odor was overpowering. He had tears falling down his face as the reek led him to the master bedroom.

When he opened the slightly cracked door, he was in for the shock of his life.

The reeking odor of death hung in the air like a thick cloud as Cole noticed blood had saturated the sheets of their perfectly-made queen size bed. His eyes widened, nearly suffocating from the intensity of the smell, seeing the blood gathered on one side of the bed; Barbi's side. Cole walked over slowly, his body trembling with pure fear as he saw the source of the blood. It had indeed been his own wife, a bloodied kitchen knife near her stiffened, pale hand, with her throat slit clean across. It was clearly done in one attempt, the wound deep enough to hit both major blood vessels to the brain. He remembered the dream he had described to Dr. Landau, seeing a badly-burnt Sarah and witnessing Barbi kill herself in the exact same fashion as this scene he was trying to take in. Her eyes were slightly closed, dead-looking, like a fish that had given up flapping for life back in the water.

He let out a scream: "AHHHHH!"

He collapsed to the floor, getting some blood on his pants from the carpeted flooring as he began to sob heavily. His heart was in his chest, seeing the hours-old corpse of his wife on the floor of their bedroom through thick, blubbery tears that only fell down his cheeks and onto the stained carpet.

"W-Why…" he sobbed incoherently. "Why..."

He sniffled, taking in the odor of decomposition emanating from Barbi's corpse. He found himself mumbling, the same dogmatic teachings from the church he had just renounced an hour before.

"Do you…n-n-not know that you are…G-God's temple…eh…a-and that G-God's Spirit…d-d-d-dwells in you?" he asked the corpse, leaning down. "I-If anyone destroys God's temple…G-G-God will destroy h-him…" He cried for a moment, sobbing before he could spit out the rest of his religious rambling; "for God's temple is holy…and you are that temple…" Then, his voice because a shrill screech of anger and hatred, "but…not anymore…YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!"

Cole burst out crying even harder, so hard that he could not hear baby Caroline crying in the other room. His wails and cries filled not only the reeking, bloody room, but the entire house. His eyes were as red as his dead wife's hair, and he tried to collect himself to speak once again.

"But…then again…s-so ain't I," he muttered tearfully.

He looked to his left on the bed, seeing three pieces of lined notebook paper. Cole immediately took them, seeing the first and second pages stained with blood spatter. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and tried to make out the handwriting. He immediately recognized it as his wife's and he began to read:

" _You see I'm now dead, but I'm at peace. I'm free. Free from my marriage, free from the torment, free from any care. I'm sorry I ended things like this, but I had to. There was no other way._

 _I married Cole not really out of love. Though I did love him before. I can't say that's true now. I married him because I knew it was a chance at a new life and a new chance to make things right with my conscience."_

Cole's dream was prophetic – this confirmed it. He cried for a minute at the words written down on the paper, and he sniffled, wiping his eyes and continuing.

" _My sister Sarah has been dead for a year, so it wasn't really so much her as a reason for me to break free. Though she did have an impact on me, for sure. My Uncle Martin was never a problem to me, though I owe it to him that we were able to live with him after Sarah killed our parents. But our place in those woods didn't come easy to us. We needed to earn it."_

Cole sniffled, and was taken aback by the last sentence. He kept reading out of curiosity, revealing what she had hidden from him the entire time, and refused to tell him while still alive.

" _Thomasin wouldn't just let us live there. Uncle Martin was there before we got there. When he took us in, she wanted me or Sarah dead, sacrificed for her and the colonists. He couldn't do that, obviously. He was given a responsibility. He hunted, though. He staged a few "hunting accidents" in the area around the house, our old house, set out traps that clamped on legs and caused injuries. He'd leave them there, make sure they couldn't get help and were immobile, and God only knew what happened after. I knew about these traps, because I started setting them out. It was mostly Sarah, but I helped when I was much younger, when my parents died. I didn't necessarily know these traps were out to disable potential sacrifices for Thomasin until later, when I knew that people injured by the traps were captured by the colonists for sacrifice during the Blood Moon season. It was the night I saw Cole out in the wilderness. I was in the hospital because I fainted._ "

He was horrified – how could she have kept all of these secrets while alive? He just kept reading the letter, continuing onto the back of the second page of the letter.

" _You may think I had no conscience, but I didn't have a choice in the matter. I was forced to do this. For my own survival's sake. It was that, or I'd be up for sacrifice. Martin ended up taking my place though. I'm still very sad about that, and even a bit guilty. His death could have been avoided. That's why I was out that night._

 _I love my daughter. Please, as my last wish, give her my malachite pendant when she hits 13 years of age, no younger, but no later than 16. And most importantly, DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE let her near that house at Roanoke. I can't bear to see another person suffer from that awful place. My own husband needed counseling because it was so bad. I didn't because I was used to it. But I'll never get over my sister's two attempts to kill me. Never ever._

 _So goodbye, God bless, I love you all._

 _Barbara MacLean."_

He could not believe what he was reading, what he was seeing – it was all surreal. No words would have been accurately able to describe how he felt. He wasn't as distraught to see his wife's dead body there on the floor at her side of the bed. In fact, he was completely shut down, numb, no feelings whatsoever.

Thank God he renounced the church he was brought up in – all those Bible verses didn't mean anything to him anymore. He had spoken to the corpse out of spite. Now, he would soon join her in hell.

All it took was for him to walk to his side of the bed and open the drawer to see the usual array of items – prescription bottles, grooming tools including a folding razor, and the Glock 27 for which he had become licensed to carry upon coming back to his home state. Before today, it provided comfort and a sense of safety for he and his family. Now, it provided a way out.

Cole wondered, as a Christian man, how he could dare attempt to take his own life following Barbi's death by the same rhyme and reason. Then again, all of those teachings by the pastor in cahoots with his family did no good now. The same pastor also blamed him for his own defilement by Scáthach, the Witch of the Wood and true power over the Roanoke colony. Then he thought about baby Caroline, how she would grow up with no parents; _she'll be with her granny, she'll be fine without two crazy parents in the house_. He thought about Rebecca, how she would fare in the rest of her high school career and then as a success in college; _she's smart, she can do anything_. As for his mother, Abigail, she came to mind as he looked at the clock to see it was nearly one hour past noon; _she can survive without me, I feel so bad that she will experience the loss of her child_.

As he lifted the front of the gun to his face and into his mouth, he felt his body jitter, tears falling down thinking of Abigail. He shut his eyes, a muttered a quick, "I'm sorry, momma," before pulling the trigger.

* * *

Some concerned neighbors waited outside their houses, watching a police car, ambulance, and coroner's truck parked outside of the Paterson's home. Many were scared about why they were called to the property, but many looked and watched as Abigail, hysterically screaming in the arms of a police officer who was trying to calm her down. Rebecca had not been home from school yet, not until 3PM that day, but Abigail knew her daughter and sole-surviving child would be in for a shock.

Abigail just wailed louder as the sight of a black tarp body bag coming out of the house on a stretcher by two men in hazmat suits came before her eyes. She buried her face into the chest of the cop, whose uniform was soaked in her mournful, shocked tears.

"Ma'am," the police officer said in his deep, smoky voice, "d-don't look. T-That's your—"

"MY SON! DAMMIT I KNOW IT'S MY SON!" she screeched. "WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD HE…"

Back to sobbing again, crying heavily. Her cries were too intense for her to open her eyes to see a second black tarp body bag coming out of the house on another designated stretcher.

"Ma'am, stay with me," the cop said to her softly, trying to keep his calm in the erratic scene. "Stay with me. This is stressin', I know. Y-You'll need to stay elsewhere while your house gets cleaned from…everythin' that happened."

Abigail immediately thought of her brother, Lucas – he was now the de facto patriarch of the Loring family. Even though all of the fortune belonging to Charles went to Cole, which he was later screwed out of, Lucas still had the respect and esteem Charles had in life before his passing a year before. Another religious zealot in her family, she wondered how he would take the news if he knew that Cole had committed suicide. Little did she know, that Cole had renounced the church of his upbringing just an hour before his suicide by gunshot.

Rebecca had come home a little past three, and the police were still at the House. Abigail was slightly calm, but still sobbing behind the yellow crime scene tape separating her from the house she lived in with her son, his wife, and the newborn baby granddaughter she was now given to hold after she was inspected by paramedics for injuries. She had been in another room, so the little soul was no harmed. She was still in her onesie and wrapped in a brown shock blanket, crying and wailing in tune with her grandmother as she was held. She was too wrapped up in the misery of the moment to notice her daughter had arrived with tears in her eyes.

"P-Please say it ain't true," the teenager said.

Abigail nodded and sniffled loudly: "h-he's gone…and s-she's gone."

Her daughter's blue eyes widened: " _Barbara_ , too?"

"YES." Abigail sobbed heavily.

"I…I saw it on Twitter, momma," Rebecca cried, kneeling down and pushing a piece of her soft brown hair behind her ear. "I-It said 'I saw bodies being dragged out from next door,' and hashtag, ' _rippatersons_ '…i-it was from our neighbor...h-he goes to my school…but he was absent…s-sick today. I knew because I had to get him his homework."

She broke down crying, her freckled face turning red as she hugged her mother with the baby between them on the sidewalk, sitting there and separated from the house as the police investigated around. It didn't take long for them to find the note, but it was not presented until Abigail, Rebecca and baby Caroline were transported to the Loring plantation, the only place Abigail could have thought of at that moment.

Lucas, who had lived on the property for a year now, had not taken the news very well – in fact, he was infuriated. When the police brought Abigail, her daughter and granddaughter to his house to stay for the week about two hours later, she told him what had happened and he was ballistic.

"That dumbass RAISED THE BAR as FAMILY DISGRACE!" Lucas spat. "Bein' raised a Christian man, you'd think he'd follow the RULES and the scriptures! It says it in the Bible, Abby! Ecclesiastes 7:17 states specifically to be not overly wicked, and neither a fool, why in God's name die before your time?! WHY?!"

"You know he wasn't doin' well, Lucas," Abigail sobbed loudly while Rebecca was crying into the baby in the living room. "This ain't a time for preachin'. All we ask is to stay here. The police brought us here for a reason. T-They need a week to c-clean the house…"

Lucas shook his head: "I'd let you stay here, but as long as I ain't gotta plan no funeral!"

"Y-You wouldn't help me?! How dare you?!" Abigail shouted tearfully.

"No, 'cause the church ain't gonna hold a service for a suicide victim!" Lucas challenged. "So forget it! I'll let you stay in our guest rooms, but that's about it!" He continued to ramble angrily. "God, in Heaven, Abby, here I am thinkin' you were a good wife and mother. Well, when you _were_ a wife!"

"I never remarried, I shouldn't suffer for it! Cole was always a good kid," Abigail argued. "You know he wasn't the same since comin' back from North Carolina."

"Little bastard squandered my fortune," Lucas hissed, banging a fist on the credenza. "Gave me this _damn_ plantation, and all the debts from Uncle Charlie's death! And two good-for-nothin' cars that can't run on _shit_!" He turned to his sister, who was still upset over her son's death. "I WAS IN LINE FOR IT ALL! UNCLE CHARLIE HAD BAD JUDGEMENT GIVIN' IT ALL TO _HIM_!"

"He gave you somethin', damn it!" Abigail exclaimed. "He's young, and he negotiated with you! I don't wanna hear another piece of shit comin' from your mouth."

"Woman, I'd tell you to watch it," Lucas snapped, "but a deal's a deal!"

"W-What's the deal?" Abigail asked, her brother nearing her and leaning down menacingly.

"Deal is, don't you _ever_ mention the name 'Collin Paterson' in my presence again. EVER!"

As he paced out of the room, Abigail found herself crying on the chair, sitting down and crashing her head onto her knees. Cole was now the family disgrace, fully taking the place of David's occult involvement by a long shot. Everything would be difficult in those months following, but even worse, she had been invited to speak publicly about the deaths of Cole and Barbi within two weeks of word hitting national news.

" _Tonight on_ Access Hollywood, _the tragic deaths of Cole Paterson and his wife from the smash TV special interview_ My Roanoke Nightmare _leave the public astounded as we also look for answers to solve the puzzle of their tragic end._ "

Every night, it was torture for Rebecca and Abigail to see.

Then, three weeks later, after countless headlines obsessing over the deaths of the reclusive "superstar" and his wife, Abigail took advantage of the chance to come forward – it was the call from the agent of Lana Winters, the world-renowned journalist who had written an exposé about Briarcliff Manor, a notorious mental institution that, in 1971, was shut down and left to ruin due to torture and mistreatment of the inmates and patients within its walls. Having admired Winters' career and work, Abigail gave it a "yes", as a chance to put her son's legacy to rest once and for all.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Aftermath of** _ **My Roanoke Nightmare**_ **: A Lana Winters Special**

(official interview transcript)

* * *

 **Lana** : Cole Paterson – a name synonymous with tragedy and reclusion. He is best-known for coming forward with a harrowing story that would destroy most people. Just last year, he agreed to a television interview sharing his experience at the infamous Roanoke house in North Carolina, known as _My Roanoke Nightmare_. Following its broadcast, he gained massive media attention with the show becoming the rage amongst many in the country. Now, just weeks after his tragic passing, his mother, Abigail Loring-Paterson has come to speak with us, as questions still remain in the minds of many.

First, Mrs. Paterson, I have so many questions for you, and a lot to learn as well. Your story made me come out of retirement just to learn more about this entire situation. But first, I need to ask how you are before we get into any details.

 **Abigail:** I am fine. It's been hard, but…I'm doing fine. My daughter is still distraught over the events, which she has every right to be. I got sole custody of my granddaughter, Caroline. She is still so little.

 **Lana** : Is Caroline Cole's daughter?

 **Abigail** : She is. Cole and Barbara's daughter.

 **Lana** : I cannot imagine how hard it will be for her to grow up without parents.

 **Abigail** : She has me and God, that's all that matters.

 **Lana** : I see. Most of all, I can't imagine how you must feel, knowing you have lost your son and, from what I've heard, your daughter in-law as well. Is that correct?

 **Abigail** : - _sniffles_ \- Yeah…s-she passed, too.

 **Lana** : Tell me to slow down, if things get a little too heavy to share.

 **Abigail** : I'm fine for now. It's mostly…just…letting everything that's happened sink in. For real.

 **Lana:** Let me ask you something. Why did you choose to talk to me above anyone else? I know you've been hounded with people from _Entertainment Weekly_ , _People_ , and even shows like _Good Morning America_.

 **Abigail** : Because I know you are going to set the record straight, and ask the right questions to get the truth from me, from my point of view. I only know so much about Cole's experiences, but I myself can't imagine what he went through. I'd have been dead, for sure, if I lived at that house.

 **Lana** : Can you tell us what made him move away from you and your daughter to North Carolina to begin with?

 **Abigail** : It was after my second cousin, Charles, passed. I was quite surprised to learn that, well, Cole inherited the entire Loring fortune. Charles was like the patriarch of our family, and he was so wealthy. My side is of old Southern blood money. The Lorings came to America from Scotland during or after the Civil War…or before. Don't remember. But…our founder in this country made something of himself and for his family. It's been passed down since. Cole inherited everything, and he felt in his heart it was God's will he move forth and find his bliss elsewhere, to settle down and whatnot.

 **Lana** : You know your family history and lineage. How old was Cole when Charles passed?

 **Abigail** : Twenty-three. But Charles was eighty-nine. He had many health problems in life.

 **Lana** : Have any other members in your family been of help? How are they handling the loss?

 **Abigail** : Not very well. My brother Lucas was furious, though. He's been…well… _obligated_ to help my daughter, granddaughter and I during this time. He's taken Charles' place in a way. A little background on the Lorings. We are all fundamentalists. We take the Bible into account, and to a tee. Lucas is just another zealot in my family. He's said that Cole is in hell, as is his wife. It's been very unkind.

 **Lana** : I am terribly sorry, Abigail.

 **Abigail** : It's how they've always been. I remember my third-cousin David, who was Charles' son, died. I was younger obviously, maybe about 17? Yup, 17. If anything, they're treating Cole worse than they did David after he died. The disrespect is absolutely terrible. See, in a fundamentalist family like ours, we take the Bible to a tee, and that includes things like suicide. It isn't talked about even as an option, nor a joke. We believe the body is a gift from God, it should never be treated as anything but. Cole, because he… _went out like he did_ , has been vastly disrespected as another black sheep.

 **Lana** : Did David commit suicide?

 **Abigail** : No. He died in a car wreck. But I remember Charles said a lot of bad things about him, that he was into satanic practices and was, in all, a pastor's worst nightmare.

 **Lana** : So, Mrs. Paterson, enlighten us a bit. How did you react when Cole came back from North Carolina? What was your initial reaction?

 **Abigail** : Shock. Especially since he brought a woman with him. Barbara. She and him got married just a few months after. It was a weird relationship, very short in the premarital stage. Barbara needed to join our church and congregation so Cole could get married.

 **Lana** : It is to my understanding that Barbara, when she was pregnant, was out with Cole and some people recognized them. It was the first time she was seen out in public, even though they'd heard of her from the interview.

 **Abigail** : Ah, that day, Cole came home upset. It was pretty ugly - _nervous chuckle_ \- not my son, but the situation. Barbara was about 6 months along, so she had a belly on her. They'd gone to Lexington for the day. There's a mall there. Cole wanted to spoil her for a bit. And sure enough, some kiddies recognized him from the show and asked him repeatedly for autographs. Barbara was trying to be cordial, but Cole took them both out of there. I can see why. And when he came home, he had a meltdown.

 **Lana:** Did he see a psychologist?

 **Abigail** : Yes, he did. Weekly. This same one diagnosed him with PTSD. Gave him a bunch of meds. Being Christian like we are, I didn't fully agree with it, but at the same time, he needed the help. Church wouldn't have done nothing. But we went every Sunday.

 **Lana** : About how long after returning to South Carolina did he decide to seek professional help?

 **Abigail** : Oh, I don't remember. I think… - _tsk tsk tsk-_ it was about…three or four weeks after? My guess. But the doctor had a reputation in the area. I supported him, Barbara supported him, we all did. Yet he complained during his episodes that nothing was helping.

 **Lana** : The pills?

 **Abigail** : Yeah, the pills, the appointments, everything. And we went to church every Sunday. I can honestly say Cole's faith was tested with this ordeal. From my perspective, it just made him all the stronger. But the strength was…-tears up- too much.

 **Lana** **:** - _hands her a tissue box, from which she pulls one and wipes her_ _eyes_ \- are you alright?

 **Abigail:** - _nods_ \- I'm fine…I just miss him. A lot. Dearly. I miss Barbara, too - _sniffles into the tissue_ \- she was a weird girl, but a good girl. I'd grown to love her like a second daughter. She could cook better than me, for Pete's sake.

 **Lana** : - _sighs_ \- how do you suspect Cole was a stronger person and Christian even though he violated his religion and killed himself?

 **Abigail** : - _bites lip and looks down with a frown, sniffling whilst shaking her head-_

 **Lana** : Mrs. Paterson?

 **Abigail** : I can't answer that. I don't _know_ why.

 **Lana** : Can you tell me how you felt first seeing your son and daughter in-law dead on the floor?

 **Abigail** : Bear with me.

 **Lana:** Certainly.

 **Abigail** : - _cluthes the tissue_ \- I walked into the house, and a…an odor punched me square in the face. I was…too absorbed in finding out where it was coming from. You know how you follow your nose when you smell something? Well, I let my nose lead the way...and…- _voice cracks_ \- I walked into to see…C-Cole…him first. H-His face was destroyed… - _wipes tears and whines_ -

 **Lana** : Destroyed? I heard that his autopsy results were released.

 **Abigail** : Released? I never…

 **Lana** : They were released, Mrs. Paterson. I'm not sure if you were aware.

 **Abigail** : By who?

 **Lana** : The coroner.

 **Abigail** : - _looks at Lana with her eyebrows raised_ \- I never…agreed to that…

 **Lana** : It's made public now. Could you reveal to us the exact causes of death of your son and daughter in-law?

 **Abigail:** - _sighs_ \- I…I am upset by this. I _never_ agreed to have this released - _sighs tearfully, wiping her eyes_ \- but…if you insist…I have no choice.

 **Lana** : I read the reports before this interview, and I saw that their causes of death were different than expected. Cole was…

 **Abigail** : - _cuts in_ \- shot himself through the mouth. He died instantly. Also, his jaw was disconnected from the impact… - _wipes her eye, sniffling_ \- some of his hind teeth were missing, too. They found those in his mouth in pieces, little fragments.

 **Lana:** And Barbara took her own life as well.

 **Abigail** : Yes. She did. When I saw her, I was…- _tears up_ \- even more horrified.

 **Lana** : Her official cause of death, well, there were two according to what I read. Asphyxia and exsanguination from a slit throat.

 **Abigail** : Yes…I-I was so…what's the word I'm looking for…I was so…- _voice cracks_ \- good heaven, I don't know…it was so much to see at once.

 **Lana:** You were horrified, you said.

 **Abigail:** Yes, yes, I was, but it was beyond that. There was blood everywhere on her side and a gash that was so doggone big I'd have sworn her head was going to fall off - _pauses_ \- I remember seeing a note on the floor. By the time I had gotten there, it was covered in blood. Wet with it, too. It hadn't even dried much.

 **Lana** : Yes, I read there was a letter left at the scene. Can you tell us what it said?

 **Abigail** : Well, considering you have asked questions you already know the answers to, I don't really see the need to. You already know what was in the letter. All 3 or 4 pages of it.

 **Lana:** I just want to gain some insight on what was meant in the letter. You're right, I do know the basic idea of what was written, but I know the audience also wants to know the details.

 **Abigail** : - _sighs_ \- Barbara wrote a letter, as you all know, and it was a suicide note. As to be expected. But…I saw a side to her in the letter I never did see before.

 **Lana** : Explain what you mean.

 **Abigail** : Barbara always seemed very gracious. I grew to love her. But it was the writing that…threw me off. A police officer gave me a chance to read it after…you know, everything was cleaned out in the house. I saw…a rather selfish side to Barbara, aside from…her…death… - _sniffles_ \- because she…w-wrote about being free from everything. I did not think she was unhappy. Cole always treated her well. Though they did have fights here and there, it never escalated enough to a point where I thought she would be unhappy as a part of our family. She wrote about...only marrying my son because she wanted to be free from her family.

 **Lana** : Tell us more about the part of the letter where she confesses to helping the Butcher.

 **Abigail** : - _sighs briskly_ \- I…I don't know what you mean.

 **Lana** : From what I read, the letter has a part where Barbara wrote about setting out traps to inhibit the movement of victims for the Butcher, the one who victimized Cole during his time at Roanoke. Barbara had been forced, it says.

 **Abigail** : - _shakes head_ \- no comment.

 **Lana** : She had a sister Sarah, correct?

 **Abigail** : S-She mentioned her in passing but she never came up in conversation.

 **Lana:** And she has been dead a year, it said.

 **Abigail** : All I knew was that she had a sister who died in that house. I don't know how, either, and frankly don't want to know. End of story.

 **Lana** : - _nods_ \- well, let me ask you this. You said the house has since been cleaned up from the incident that brought you here to this interview. Tell me, are they buried yet? Have you held their services?

 **Abigail:** Our church would not hold the service because they were suicide deaths - _tears fall, wipes her eyes_ \- still going as far as treating the family horribly for how they went out - _sniffles_ \- it's like…how can people who preach love be so…unaccepting, and…cruel? It's…baffling, to say the least.

 **Lana** : I can imagine that being very difficult.

 **Abigail** : It has been. We can't catch a break. It's been disgusting, absolutely _disgusting_ , how the media can make millions off someone's misery. Two people, in fact. Barbara, I didn't know her as well as I did my son, but I can only imagine the horrors she had seen growing up in that area. Just being near the house.

 **Lana** : Can you tell us your opinion on something?

 **Abigail** : What?

 **Lana:** Do you think, in your own reasoning, it was the unwanted media attention Cole got for _My Roanoke Nightmare_ , or was it the psychological distress that led him to take his own life?

 **Abigail:** - _shrugs_ \- I-I cannot speak to that. I'm not my son. But if I had to give an honest answer, I would say it was both that contributed. Before they died, w-we were visited by Sidney Aaron James.

 **Lana:** At your house in South Carolina? He's the producer and the holder of the interview, right?

 **Abigail** : Yes, he was, and boy, he was a rude, unruly son-of-a-gun. That Sunday, we'd been coming home from church services and Cole pulls near the house to see a really, really expensive car parked there with Sidney standing outside it. Cole was really angry at this, not only because he was in our driveway. Barbara was gracious and welcomed him in, and from there, I was in the living room minding my business. Then I heard Cole yelling and I saw him dragging Sidney out of the house. Afterwards, he came and told me that Sidney had insulted him and insulted Barbara.

 **Lana** : I remember when Sidney Aaron James came forward with that story, but it never came to light that he would sue Cole for any back injuries caused by being hurled down the front steps of your home.

 **Abigail:** I say my son was in the right. I raised him to be in the right. Sidney was wrong doing what he did. Cole only wanted to go forward with his story as a therapeutic experience, and Sidney outright exploited it. It's disgusting and vile.

 **Lana:** That's interesting to say, considering the reboot was never released to the public. It was mentioned, but never released. It was finished just 2 weeks ago.

 **Abigail:** Oh?

 **Lana:** - _leans forward-_ it is said Sidney was found dead along with his production team, as well as any actors who returned to the set. They were all gruesomely murdered.

 **Abigail** : - _leans back in her seat_ \- Cole warned him.

 **Lana:** I-I'm sorry, what did you say?

 **Abigail:** Do I stutter? - _louder_ \- He WARNED him. He warned him he'd die going back there. But did he listen? No. He didn't. That's his fault.

 **Lana:** Please don't raise your voice.

 **Abigail** : I am so angry at the fact that my son's death is being exploited because of y'all being selfish! It's NOT FAIR! It's disgusting! - _rises from her seat and faces the camera_ \- God is going to get all you when you least expect it! It's God's will that y'all SUFFER for putting my family through this! All Cole wanted was an outlet to heal himself, but all you gave him was unnecessary attention and - _continues yelling at the camera_ -

 **Lana** : W-We'll be right back after this commercial break.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _THANK YOU to all of you who stuck around for this story! I know not many of you read it, but I'm sure it will pick up. FF needs to update the "Worlds" section to include "Roanoke". Seriously. Plus this season was pretty experimental so I needed to follow suit._

 _Also, you'll find this interview IS NOT on my Wattpad because it takes an eternity to edit on there, unlike FF. So...you've been redirected for a reason. Don't get mad! ;)_

 _If you liked this story, feel free to leave a_ Review, _and be sure to_ Favorite _and_ Follow!


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